


At the Heart of Things

by mzlynx



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Therapy, Trust Issues, mental breakdown(s), past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mzlynx/pseuds/mzlynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Gilmore girl, a psychatrist and some deep secrets. Why? What? Exactly what lies at the heart of it all?<br/>AUish, where events pre-series have changed Lorelai's life to the point where she's no longer the strong, independent woman we've gotten to know. It's time to try and fix what's broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Serious Need of Professional Help

**Chapter 1: In Serious Need of Professional Help**

Dear Dr Marshall,  
thank you so much for taking this case. I truly am out of my depth here. The patient in question is, in my opinion, in serious need of professional help – unless some progress is made, and soon, I am afraid that the patient will self-destruct. My own efforts have, I fear, not been enough. The best I can say is that I truly believe I have at least not made things worse.

I first came in contact with the patient at age nineteen, in June 1987, after a call from the family’s physician. The patient had just graduated from high school, but missed her actual graduation due to a breakdown – just hours before the event in question.  
I was called in largely because the physician in question, a Dr Lewis, was a friend of my family. He told me later that the parents were hesitant to having their daughter see a psychiatrist, and that he got them to agree mainly because of my “other qualifications”; that is, me being a young female knowing how society works. He also told me he personally believed that I would have an easier time connecting to and working with the patient because of this, as it would invoke some sort of sisterhood thing. At the time I agreed. Now, how ever, I have come to believe that this may instead have been an obstacle.

The patient was found in bed the morning of her graduation, curled into a fetal position, crying hysterically yet quietly, something that scared the maid sent to wake her up but (according to what I managed to piece together) annoyed her mother. At first, that is. When it was clear that the patient could not be scolded, threatened or coaxed into calming down, not to mention going to her graduation, the family physician was called. And, as I said, later I too was called.  
After several hours, and with the help of drugs, I got the patient calmed down. The situation was disturbing though, and by stressing the fact that I knew how important it was for a society family to keep this quiet I managed to get the parents permission to treat their daughter further. For the following three years I met with her twice a month, trying to break though her depression.

I still have no idea as to the reason behind the breakdown. The real reason that is. At the time I thought it was due to the stress of high school, seeing as the school in question, Chilton, is very demanding and the patient graduated top of her class and was elected valedictorian. The patient agreed to this, but I have since come to believe that there was more to it, considering all that followed.  
The patient was clearly depressed, and seemed to be helped by medication. Due to the fact that, as we thought then, her breakdown was brought on by the pressure of school, by the need to perform well and be one of the best, it was decided that she would not attend university during the fall. Instead, her mother found her a part-time job (which the patient called “boring, but a no-brainer”). The patient also studied French – apparently her favorite subject at Chilton.

Things were uneventful for almost two years, and I was just about to decrease her medication, when the patient’s depression worsened, just a few months ahead of her 21st birthday. When asked, the patient guessed the reason to be “the society shit”. I accepted this, knowing that coming from a society family she was probably experiencing pressure to get married, or at least engaged. This is one of the few cases where I still trust my judgment, even though there may have been lesser reasons as well.  
The medication was increased instead, for a while. In our sessions we talked a lot about the patient trying to find some other occupation, seeing as she still had the same boring part-time job. She was leaning, albeit cautiously, towards becoming a teacher. The reasons she gave were that she liked children, and that the only thing she was any good at was French. I noted at the time that she looked sad when mentioning children, but when I tried questioning her about the possibility of having a family, with her own children, she immediately closed down. In the fall the patient enrolled at Yale. During the following year she worked hard, aiming for a teacher’s degree. Contrary to my fears she seemed to thrive, and it was finally possible to decrease her medication. The patient seemed happy, content, and I seriously believed that after three years we were seeing an end to her treatment.  
This made her second break-down even more puzzling, and serious.

Two weeks into her summer vacation the patient was found catatonic. Interviews with her parents gave the following sketchy background: They had all attended a wedding – where the groom was a childhood friend of the patient – which the patient had left early. When the parents returned home they found their daughter on the couch, in her pajamas, passed out they thought. As soon as they realized that her eyes were open, but that she could not be revived, an ambulance was immediately called.  
The patient was totally unresponsive for two weeks before coming to, and when waking claimed to have no memory of the events leading up to her breakdown. When asked about the last thing she remembered the patient replied “We were about to go to Chris’ wedding, weren’t we?”  
I saw the patient three times the following week, without getting anywhere. Even though she had not been as open as I would have wished earlier, we had been communicating. After her second break-down however, she shut me out completely. She was released from the hospital after ten days. Two days after her release I was notified that she was no longer my patient, as she had left the country to stay with relatives.

She returned to my practice, on her own, two years later. She was back at Yale, now having abandoned teaching as a possible career. Instead she was taking classes in hotel management, business and economics. The patient still suffered from depression, but there had been no more break-downs, and her medication was much decreased from her earlier time with me. She told me she had worked out a lot of her earlier problems, but realized she still had problems. I felt she had no real interest in being truly open and honest with me, leaving her underlying issues untouched, but that it was better to try and work with her than leave her on her own as she declared that as far as psychiatrists went it was me or no one.

For the last five years I have seen the patient infrequently, as little as twice a year or up to once or twice a month, according to her wishes. I have come to the realization that I cannot treat her properly, and that she in part has been manipulating me – working with my society background and knowledge to keep me from finding out the big issues in her life. I still believe that her society life and the pressure she is under come into play here, and that she needs to deal with these things, but I believe that there is something much more serious here.

The patient’s third break-down came just days ago, and even though it was not as serious as the one before the mere fact that she had one is very serious. I am, as I have stated repeatedly, out of my dept here, and hope that you will be able to do better.

I have noticed that the patient seems to have a troubled relationship with her family, something that she has not been willing to get into with me. I believe that you should try this angle, you may have more luck. Also, going through my notes I get a strong feeling that there has been outside reasons for all three break-downs (the latest occurring just days after her grandmothers death), or at least for the timing of them. It is just a feeling, but as I said, it is a strong one, and I am starting to believe that reasons for the patient’s depression, her break-downs and state of mind may be found by finding out what else happened at the same time.  
I wish you (both) the best of luck.

Laura Jones


	2. May I Call You Lorelai?

**Chapter 2: May I Call You Lorelai?**

“So, Miss Gilmore… By the way, may I call you Lorelai?” He holds his breath, knowing from experience that these first few minutes would be very important. If he was to “crack this nut” (to use a highly improper, and strictly behind-locked-doors psychiatrist joke) he needed to connect with her. In reality, he doesn’t care much whether he calls his patients by their first or last name, normally that is. But in this case he feels that it would make a difference, an important one. He has a feeling that family is a huge factor here, if not **the** factor, meaning that referring to her by her family name would not help. In fact, it might just do the opposite.

Her nod is hesitant, almost invisible, but it’s there. Maybe not exactly the response he would have like, but still, it is a start. And, considering what he has read between the lines of Laura Jones’ notes, it probably should be seen as a good start.

“Good. My name, in case you didn’t catch it earlier, is Robert Marshall. You can call me Robert, or Dr Marshall, whichever feels best for you.”

“Okay.” Her tone of voice betrays nothing, neither does her face.

“Tell me, Lorelai, why are you here?” He watches her carefully, yet intensely, looking for clues while hoping that his brusque, to-the-point and probably totally unexpected question will push her into revealing something, **anything**.

“What do you mean, why am I here? Shouldn’t you know all about that, huh?” She looks defiant, puzzled, a little hostile, but in her eyes he sees a hint of something else, something that just might be relief.

“No, actually I know very little about that, about you.” He keeps watching, getting confirmation when she relaxes – just a fraction, but still – and when the hint in her eyes grown correspondingly stronger. Definitely relief. _So,_ he thinks, _she doesn’t want to pick up where she left things with Laura Jones. She wants a new beginning. Interesting. Well, that shouldn’t be too hard._ Carefully choosing his words he continues:

“Yes, I know some basic facts about you, and your medical history. Like, for instance, I know that you just turned 30, that your grandmother just passed away and that you have been seeing Dr Laura Jones on and off for the last decade because of depression and break-downs. Not that much more. I have not seen any medical files, nor any of the notes taken by Dr Jones. I have neither spoken to anyone from your family, nor have I Googled you…” That statement made her smile softly.  
“Need I continue? No? Good. As I said, I know some basic facts. If absolutely necessary for **your sake** I might have to do some research into your medical records, yet I would prefer it if we could work with what **you** can tell me.”

Another fraction of relaxation follows.

“So, I’ll try again. Lorelai, why are you here?”

She sits quietly, thinking for a while. He allows it, welcomes it, knowing that if he is to get to the truth he needs to be patient, needs to let her find her own pace. Needs to have her know that this will be the case. Pushing her… Well, pushing could be good, in the right time and fashion. This, however, is not the time. He prefers to limits his pushing, saving it for when necessary, or when it will have the most effect, otherwise using more subtle methods.

“As you said, my grandmother just passed away. Lorelai ‘Trix’ Gilmore, a.k.a. The Reigning Lorelai. She…”  
She breaks of whatever she is about to say, apparently not quite satisfied, shakes her head slightly, and starts over.

“Two weeks ago, instead of picking up my grandmother at the airport I got to pick up the pieces when she died. When she _‘got killed’_ , actually, in a car crash on her way to Heathrow about to fly over here to see me. Well, technically, to see us, I guess, but she did pick that particular time to visit because of **me**. Because of **my** birthday, because of things **I** thought she needed to see, meetings **I** booked.”

Her voice is calm, too calm for her words, and he makes a mental note to get back to this later. Now, however, is not the time to do anything but listen, listen and make those mental notes.

She is silent again, clearly debating whether to continue or not. So he too is silent. It reminds him of going “picture-hunting” with his grandfather the wild-life photographer as a small boy; waiting for the animals to show up, staying down so that they wouldn’t notice him, being quiet so he wouldn’t scare them away …  
Lorelai Gilmore reminds him of those elusive, easily-scared animals in more ways than one.

”Logically speaking, I know it’s not my fault she’s dead. It’s the idiot who just had to get to the airport 90 seconds faster, not really caring how he did it… Well, he didn’t, now, not at all. Then, again, neither did she. But. Logic isn’t always my strong side. If it had been, life would have been different. **Really** different.”

She halts again, draws breath, opens her mouth, closes it again as no sounds come out. She tries again, same result. He stays silent, while reflecting that suddenly she reminds him less of a shy animal and more of someone about to step off a ledge, bungee jump, throw herself out off an airplane. Terrified, yet elated. Scared and unsure, yet somehow wanting, **needing** it. Again, like those animals, he guesses. Seeing the food he and his grandfather left during harsh winters; weighing hunger against fear, the need to eat against the risk of it being a trap, survival instincts… His line of thought suddenly broken by her voice he focuses once more.

Her voice is weak, but growing stronger with each word, a drive in it that awakens hope in him. _Could it be…?_

“But, you asked me why I’m here, and that’s not really why. Yes, it’s why I broke down – **this time** , but it’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I’m a nut job, a basket case, a neurotic emotional failure that can’t be relied upon to get out of bed without drugs.”

 _Yes!!!_ He had to restrain himself from not getting up and do a jig. _I’ve got her! By God, I’ve got her!_


	3. Chapter 3: One Life, Please. And Can I Have it Gift-wrapped?

**Chapter 3: One Life, Please. And Can I Have it Gift-wrapped?**

  


Taking a deep breath Lorelai continues:  
“…and I just lost the one person who really **knew** that, still loved me and actually managed to help me. I’m here because I don’t know where else to turn to. I’m here because I want my life back.”

She shakes her head, looking down at her feet momentarily, before looking him straight in the eyes for the first time since entering.  
“But it’s not that easy, is it? I mean, hey, it’s not like you can just walk into some place, be it a store, a restaurant or a psychiatrist’s practice, and just order it up. You know, ‘Excuse me, one life, please. Gift-wrapped and to go.’ If it was that easy, then wouldn’t you be out of business?”

She looks at him, a little flustered, hesitantly, as if chocked from her confession and unsure if it had been the right thing to do. After a few seconds though her attitude changes, becoming challenging, daring him to lie to her. Clearly, she is expecting platitudes, evasions, cheap crappy clichés and all that jazz. Well, she was in for a surprise.

“The politically correct answer here is probably that no, it’s not that easy. But, I’m not in the business of being PC – I’m in the business of treating wounded human beings, which is sometimes done best by being incorrect, politically and otherwise, as hell. If you’ll pardon my French.”

He catches a tiny smile there, once again making a mental note of trying to find out the reason why later. Then he continues:  
“The honest answer, in my experience and opinion, is that yes, it can actually be like that. Not ’that easy’, because it is no where near easy, but like that. Look at what you yourself have done today. You have walked in here, clearly stating that you want your life back. That is the first step towards achieving that; you have to **know** what you want, and **admit** it, in order to actually **get** it. Then, of course, comes many more steps, but the first one is always the hardest.”

He looks at her, trying to judge her, hoping that he’s right about who she is and what she likes before trying an analogy.  
“You know what they say, ‘So you want fame? Well, fame costs, and right here is where you start paying, in sweat’?”

Halfway through the quote he hears her voice joining in, and the slight smile on her face tells him that he’s pegged her right – at least in this case.

“Great movie,” she says. “So, does this mean what I think it does?”

“Depends. If you think that it means that we’re gonna start dancing, then no.”

She rewards his effort with another slight smile.

“But, if you think it means a lot of hard work ahead, **then** yes, you’re right. I’m not going to lie to you, Lorelai, this will not be easy. You have taken a long time to collect all the emotional baggage that’s bothering you and it’s going to take time to get rid off it as well. Not that long, at least that’s my professional opinion, but it’s not going to happen anytime today.”  
“So, in order to speed up that process I’d like to see you as much as possible for the next few days, or weeks. If it can be arranged I’ll see you just about every day. Now, I realize that this may sound a bit extreme to you, but consider this: at the moment you are vulnerable. Not only have you just lost someone close to you, but you have also started to deal with your psychic health – taken the first step towards actually dealing with not only **that** you are depressed, but with **why**. Just as when a physical wound is reopened for treatment the wounds of the soul cannot be left open and untended for long without festering, infection and even more problems than you had at the beginning. Therefore, we will act quickly to prevent this. Do you see where I’m coming from with this?”

He looks at her, expectantly, relieved to see her nod. Her answer, though, shocks him.

“If I leave today, and then come back in a week or two… Then I’ll just try and pretend like everything I’ve said today is either forgotten or was simply a product of stress and grief. Soon I’ll start pretending like everything is okay, and stop coming. I might even go back to Laura. So, yes, Dr Marshall, I understand. Luckily I have this week and next off, due to Trix’ funeral and for ‘personal reasons’. I have obligations, naturally, but I’ll give you what time you deem necessary. Emily will just have to deal.”

She looks exactly like a five-year-old: stubborn, intent on getting her way, certain she’s in the right, yet equally certain she’s in for trouble. But in no way prepared to back down, no matter how much she’s yelled at. That’s good, he thinks, especially if she’ll take that same attitude with her into their talks, their work.

“That’s great, really. We’ll start with you returning tomorrow, at five pm?” He looks questioningly at her, waits for her nod, and continues:  
“I’ll have a preliminary schedule for you then. But, before you leave, why don’t you tell me more about your grandmother? How did the two of you become so close?”

“You don’t start small, do you? Okay, but I’ll tell you the short version whenever I can, seeing as otherwise I won’t have to worry about being on time for our meeting tomorrow - we’ll still be here then.  
We weren’t that close, not when I was younger. She was just ‘grams’, or ‘grandmother’, and kind of terrifying. I saw her something like, oh say five, six times a year, and she always seemed less than impressed with me. I didn’t behave properly, my attitude wasn’t ladylike enough, my grades weren’t good enough, my clothes not suitable, and my lack off ‘proper’ plans for the future simply unacceptable… I was a disgrace to the Gilmore-name, and needed to be reigned in at once.  
Then, at 22, I got sent off to live with her in London. She thought it the perfect opportunity to make me see the error of my ways – even though I had changed a lot from the teenager she was so disappointed in. I was a proper lady, dressing and acting in a way that not even Emily Gilmore could fault. I had changed my attitude towards school, graduating high school at the top of my class and valedictorian. I was going to Yale, with a career in mind. Why should she see me as lacking? Well, apparently, because I had chosen the wrong career. Becoming a teacher simply wasn’t good enough for her granddaughter and name-sake. Not that she though that teaching was beneath a Gilmore, or something snobbish like that, but she just didn’t think it was right for **me**. Becoming a teacher based on the fact that the only thing I felt any good at was French was, according to her, a waste of talent. And she would **not** hear otherwise, not even when I tried telling her that I had no idea what talents she could possibly mean.”

 _Ah_ , he thought, _she speaks French. That explains that._

“Instead she enrolled me, without asking, in some classes at a business school. Economics. Dry, difficult, totally over my head and thus extremely boring. I felt like a complete idiot. Which, of course, I never admitted. I claimed I was bored because the lectures, the textbooks and the assignments all felt dry and lifeless. Which **was** the truth, just not the whole truth. I’m pretty sure I didn’t fool her for a minute though. Two days later she informed me, in the same tone of voice as if she’d been talking about dinner, that she’d ‘redistributed some assets’ and started a business. One I was supposed to run. Like, ‘Here, don’t screw up. Good luck, Lorelai’. Oh, I’d have her to help, in fact she made it quite clear that I damn well better ask her, but it was my responsibility. My mess or my success.  
She gave me 10 percent of the company, telling me flat out that any increases in my share would be dependent on my success, but that she expected me to own 25 percent before I turned 30. No pressure there. We talked about names, and in an uncharacteristic girlish bout she agreed to name the company ‘Thrilll’ – with three L’s.”

“Why three?”

“It was a pun, three L’s – three Lorelais. See, we agreed that we’d end up being all three of us. Plus, it was supposed to be a thrill, to make me see business and economics as something other than boring. Anyway, back then, it was some stock and a run-down inn outside of London. God, between school and trying to get that inn on its feet… Gah! I had absolutely no time left, unless of course, Trix and I got invited to some function or other. I worked like ten hours a day, five days a week, and then spent my weekends either being a good little socialite at parties or doing the cultural scene. But it paid off. I got closer to Trix, which gave me a much needed ally. I felt better, mentally, emotionally, and was less prone to brood. And the business thrived. I stayed for two years, and when I left not only was the inn doing great but we had actually acquired two more – one in the north of England and one just outside of Paris. Plus, I had realized I was good at something. Really good. Except for screwing up, this was a first for me. I had a goal, a direction, for the first time in oh, about eight years. And this time it was a little more productive than ‘We’re gonna take a year off after high school and go backpacking through Europe’ or ‘When I graduate, I’m gonna go on tour with the Bangles’. This time it was actually a **real** direction, not just one that was the opposite of wherever my parents would have liked me to go.  
After I came back here Trix and I kept in touch, her running the business momentarily – miraculously without Emily and Richard finding out anything about our little adventure – while I was back at Yale. We were going to go public with it soon; we just wanted to find a place here, in Hartford or nearby, first. Which I thought I had, that was part of why she was coming here…”

She breaks off, looking sad. He figures it’s because of the guilt she harbors and the loss. So he decides to call it a day, after just one more question.

“Look, this has been a long hour for you, right? So, we’ll stop here and resume tomorrow. I just have one more question. You call your grandmother ‘Trix’ now, but from what I understand that wasn’t always the case. So why? I’m just curious,” he adds, not wanting to upset her further.  


She smiles softly, obviously not minding.  
“When I moved there, I still called her ‘grams’. That went well for about a week. Then she informed me that she could not **stand** being grandmothered every day, and since calling her ‘Lorelai’ wasn’t really an option I was to follow my father’s example and call her Trix. I didn’t mind, not at all. It made it easier to get along. A new name for a new relationship, so to speak.  
Well,” she says while standing up. “It’s been interesting. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

After the door closes behind her he shakes his head. _Dear God_ , he thinks to himself, _interesting? That’s a bit of an understatement, to say the very least. I wonder what will happen tomorrow…_


	4. Interlude: What Is This Feeling Inside?

**Interlude: What Is This Feeling Inside?**

Lorelai laid in her bed, letting her thoughts drift, trying to relax and find the peace needed for at least a few hours sleep. She wasn’t too confident, all things considered. She’d developed insomnia a while back, along with her depression. In fact, they were probably dependent on each other – her brooding making it hard to fall asleep, not being able to sleep pushing her into brooding, and so on. A vicious cycle. She did have pills for it, but seeing as she felt enough like a junkie anyway she was reluctant to take them. Besides, insomnia **had** its uses – it was the reason she’d been able to take an extra subject during her second time at Yale and still be able to go to parties and such when she felt like it. Not that she did, not that often at least. In honesty it had been more like being able to go to the parties her parents insisted she attend. Still. At the present though, insomnia was her enemy.

She thought back to her appointment earlier. Dr Marshall seemed okay. That was the problem, right there. **Seemed** okay. At one time she had thought the same about Laura. But, unlike with Laura now she was tempted to let her guard down. To open up to another person completely for the first time since–  
Her mind shied away, and Lorelai quickly started looking for something else to think about. The flower arrangements, that was just the thing. Emily was breaking down under the pressure of trying to fix everything **exactly** the way Trix had specified in her will. At the moment it was the florist that was driving her insane. Apparently the one Trix wanted had retired – or was that the minister? Was the florist the one that was dead? She knew this, didn’t she? But it was so hard to concentrate, just as if she was about to…

The next thing she knew Lorelai woke up, feeling fully rested. It felt strange, satisfying yes, but strange. She simply was so used to managing on four or five hours by now that anything else felt like something out of a fairytale. She stretched, like a cat in the sunshine, and just lay there smiling softly, reveling in the luxurious feeling of being not-tired. And there was something else… She turned her senses inwards, trying some introspection. What **was** that feeling?

When she found her answer it shocked her. _It’s faith! Like everything’s going to be alright. I’m almost happy. Where did that come from? I hardly thought I knew those words anymore…_


	5. Independence, My Ass!

**Chapter 4: Independence, My Ass!**

“Hello, Lorelai. Welcome back.” He watches her carefully, looking for signs that the rapport from the day before still exists. He believes that he finds them, in how she carries herself, in the smile she sends him and in the lightness in her tone as she greets him.

“I thought we’d start with a few questions I have, concerning things you said yesterday. Is that okay with you? Great. Then, I believe you spoke of putting off college to go backpacking through Europe. Could you tell me a little more about that? Why didn’t you go, especially since college wasn’t a factor after all?” To his surprise she visibly stiffens, clamming up. _God, what was so sensitive about **that**? I’d have thought that a trip, even if it didn’t take place, would be a safe subject._

He decides to try and wait her out, try and give her time to volunteer information. If she stays silent, well, then he’ll do it another way because now he knows that he **needs** that story, but for now… His patience is rewarded after a few minutes.

“When I was 15, that was the plan. After graduating Chilton, before going to Harvard… Just go off, travel through Europe, staying at hostels, sleeping in parks and on benches if necessary, getting jobs when possible… Seeing as much as possible, starting with Paris… But, it just didn’t happen. Sure, I could have gone to Europe after graduation. Emily and Richard would have paid. If I’d done it their way. Traveling with a chaperon, staying at five star hotels or in society homes, a proper young lady ‘doing Europe’ the right way. It just wasn’t the way I’d imagined it. It wouldn’t have been the trip that I’d dreamed of for three years, you understand?”

“I think I do. But, there’s something else I’m not so sure I understand. Yesterday you said ‘we’. ‘We’ were going to Europe. Were you supposed to go with someone?” _Aha_ , he thinks as she pales a little, _here’s something._

“Yeah… She drags it out, not really willing to talk about it. – It was supposed to be the two of us, me and Ch… my boyfriend. That’s kinda why it didn’t happen, I guess. So, you said ‘a few’ questions?”  
He knows it now. There’s something buried here. _After graduation she said… A planned trip, then the trip got canceled. And then she had that breakdown - at the time they were supposed to leave. Hmm… Couldn’t be **that** easy, could it?_

“Oh, yes. Also, you said that you got ‘sent off’ to London. Do I understand you correctly that you didn’t leave voluntarily?”

“Not exactly, no. In fact, I wasn’t even asked what I wanted. I came home from the hospital and found my bags packed, everything prepared for my departure the next day. It wasn’t what I would have chosen, but I wasn’t in any shape to argue, and then… Well, London was good to me. London and Trix. In some way it was precisely what I needed, even though in others it was the worst possible course of action.”

“So why send you there? Do you know? I’m guessing that it was your parents’ idea?”  
“Of course. They told me that it was for my own good, that I needed to become more independent and that they thought that some time away would help with that. Independence, my ass!”

She notices his surprised face, and calms down a bit, while trying to explain.

“Of course I lacked independence. I was 22, still living in my parents’ house, working a part-time job that my mother had gotten me – at the DAR, where she’s a prominent member making her almost my boss – while half-heartedly taking part-time classes at my father’s alma mater attempting to qualify for a job I’d never thought about until a year earlier. I was dependent as hell, for everything. So yeah, in a way they were right. But sending me off to Trix didn’t make me an independent person. It made me less dependent, but in the same way as getting your grades up from an F to a D makes you less of a failure. In fact, in some ways I even grew more dependent. Trix…  
She became my guiding light, so to speak. She showed me London, and England, making sure we’d go somewhere new every week. She taught me about opera, theater, musicals… About European designer clothes, and politics. About all those things Emily had tried to make me learn, with marginal success. During those two years she was felt like more of a parent to me than Richard and Emily had in a long time. When I woke up in the middle of the night crying and screaming she held me, not making a fuss about it or anything, just holding me and singing me to sleep. I realize that may sound strange, a 22 year old being sung to sleep, but that’s the approach she chose. And it worked. It made me feel safe. Plus, I worked with her, giving me some money of my own – if I managed to make a profit that was – at the same time giving her the opportunity to mold me into who she thought I should be. Did a pretty good job too. The only reason I didn’t rebel when I was told my year in London would become two instead was Trix. By that time I’d gotten so used to living with her that the thought of being separated by an ocean scared the hell out of me.  
So, when I came back here I kept turning around, expecting Trix to be there. Which she wasn’t, naturally, and I had to start over again. Try to wean myself from her, so to speak, while already on my own. It took me quite a while, and to be quite honest, I’m still kind of dependent on her. Instead of living in my parents’ house I now live in Trix’ Hartford house. Her tenants were leaving around the same time that I was leaving Yale, and instead of finding new ones she let me use the house. Great for me, not so great for my independence. I’ve spent the last eight years working with Trix, in one way or another and every extra cent I own I have her to thank for. But now that she’s gone… I just turned 30, and now I have my first chance to stand on my own two feet. It’s rather scary, to be frank.”

Then she smiles, an unexpected, ironic smile and ask him:  
“Do you know the real irony of it all? I told you yesterday that I wanted Trix to come over and look at a place, an inn we might buy? It’s really great, well-run, the surroundings are perfect and the staff is great – I’ve been working there for a year now so I know. Well, the name of the place is, drum roll, please: the Independence Inn. How’s that for hints, huh?”

She smiles, and he can’t help but joining her, briefly. Then he dives in again.

“Is that a hint you are going to take? Wait, let me rephrase that. Do you still want to buy the place? And how will you proceed with this whole ‘independence, standing on your own’ thing?”

“Good question. As for the inn, yes, I think I will. If I can, that is. Trix’ will hasn’t been made public yet, which means I’m not sure what will happen with her part of ‘Thrilll’. She always said that there’d only be Lorelais owning it, but something might have happened. But, if I get my way then I’ll buy the Independence Inn. As for the other kind of independence, well, I’m working on it. That’s what I’m doing here, too, isn’t it?”

He nods, and decides to leave that line of questioning – for now. Instead he braces himself, knowing that the following questions, and their answers, will most probably be painful for her. But they need to be asked, and answered, if she’s to ever get her wish for her life back fulfilled.

“You left for London after your second break-down, correct? The one where you ended up at the hospital, catatonic? Yes? Now, I realize that this won’t be easy for you, but could you please tell me about it? As much as you can, in your own words. Take your time – I’m in no hurry.”

Her expression becomes guarded, and she shifts her body in the chair, finally settling in a less relaxed position.

“There’s really not that much to tell. Really. We were supposed to attend a wedding, and then I woke up at the hospital. I don’t remember anything about it, but I’ve been told that we went, I left early and then I was found on the couch. That’s it.”

 _She’s lying!_ He had no idea how he knew, but he’d stake his reputation on it. Why would she lie about it? Did something happen at the wedding?

“Lorelai.” He keeps his voice low, even, chooses his words carefully. “You’re not telling me the truth. You **do** remember, don’t you? Why don’t you want anyone to know what happened that day? Why are you lying to me about it?”

She starts to protest, tries to form a denial, then just falls silent, retreating into herself it seems. This time, however, he will not allow it. He knows, with a frightening certainty, that he can’t afford it, and that neither can she.

“Lorelai? Lorelai! Talk to me. You are the one that came to me, remember? You said you wanted your life back. You agreed to work with me. Well, now is the time to start. If you can’t be honest with me now you might as well leave now, because unlike Laura Jones I’m not prepared to waste my time. I have other patients, not to mention a waiting list, and if you don’t want my help others will gladly take your place.”

Still no reaction. He begins to worry that he’s pushed her too far, yet he means every word. He can’t help her if she’s not honest, and if he can’t help her, then their time together is worthless.

“I… You’re right. I remember. I wish to God I didn’t, but I do. I’ve tried to forget, so hard and so long, but I can’t. Please, don’t make me relive that. Please?”

She looks so broken, like an abused child asking not to be sent back to the parents that’s beaten her. He wishes he could be merciful, but he can’t, not when he knows that any leniency on his part now will just make things worse later on.

“Lorelai, I’m sorry. I don’t want to cause you pain, I really don’t, but you need to talk about this. You’ve tried to forget about it for eight years, tried so hard that you’ve already ended up in a hospital bed once. You’ll never be free from it like this – and you **need** to be free from it. That is my opinion as a professional.”

She looks like she’s about to cry, but something in her demeanor has changed slightly. So, when she starts speaking, in a small voice, he’s not too surprised.

“We were going to a wedding. And I didn’t want to. I hated my dress, I hated my date, I hated the fact that we were going… And I think I hated the fact that he was getting married…”  
“Who, Lorelai? Whose wedding was it?”

“Chris’. We were going to Chris’ wedding. And even though I’d always believed that I’d be at his wedding, I’d never dreamed I’d be a guest…”


	6. What about Chris?

**Chapter 5: What about Chris?**

“Lorelai? Who is Chris?”

“Chris… Christopher Hayden. My… first boyfriend. We’ve know each other since I was six, then when we were teenagers things changed. We just, you know, clicked. Started dating when I was fifteen, head over heels in love, and I thought we were going to be together forever. We were so perfect for each other, not only because he knew me better than anyone but because both of us were rebelling against our parents and the pressures of society.  
Going back-packing, for instance, that was our thing. His idea, for once, but I loved it. Today I’m not so sure he meant it, but back then? Oh yeah. I had it all planned – read every book about Europe I could find in dad’s study, looked at maps trying to figure out the best route… Imagining us floating down the canals in Venice – by valporetta, water taxi, of course, since no way would we be able to afford a gondola, but still. Dreaming about the two of us in Paris; standing at the top of the Eiffel tower, or beneath l’arc de thriumphe, or doing thousands of other things. It was what kept me going every time I wanted to just scream in school, the thought that ‘soon’ all that would be over and then Chris and I would leave.  
And when we came back we’d go to Harvard, together. Another rebellion, and a huge one. He, as a Hayden, was supposed to go to Princeton. I was supposed to be a Gilmore and go to Yale, or maybe attend Smith like Emily did. Harvard? Not on the map for either of us. Thus its appeal. And just like the thought of going to Europe the thought of Harvard helped me. To get in to Harvard, against my parents’ explicit wishes, I’d need really good grades. Yale, well, if I wanted to go there I could. Just like that. No dean of admissions would deny a Gilmore – especially not that one, seeing as he and my father were friends. Is, I guess, because he’s still there. And I did have an easy time at Yale. But now I’m getting off topic again.  
I never considered that all of this wouldn’t come to pass. As I said, Chris and I were perfect together, and we’d be together always. But it didn’t happen. Instead we broke up, didn’t speak for five years, and not much at all since. We aren’t exactly close – not even as close as old playmates normally are.”

“Why didn’t you speak for so long? Didn’t you still attend the same school?”

“No, in fact we didn’t. Not much at least. See, I was sent off, yes, London wasn’t the first time, to ‘study abroad’. To Canada, Montreal to be precise, and yes again, that’s where I learned French. I’d studied it at Chilton, before, but Montreal is where I **learned** French. Anyway, I spent the better part of the year there, from April up until Christmas, and when I returned to Chilton for the spring term Chris had left for Andover – and from there he went on to Princeton. I, however, remained here. So it wasn’t really that surprising that we didn’t talk for that long, all things considered.”

“Why did you start talking again? Did something happen?” _Something **did** happen, didn’t it?_ he thinks, watching her carefully.

“Well, not really. It depends on how you see it. There was this party at the Hayden residence, which I attended. I know that may sound strange, since we didn’t speak and all, but the thing about society is that appearances are everything - no matter what you show up and act like nothing is wrong. Unless, of course, you can get out of it in a graceful way, without it being obvious that you’re refusing to attend. And this time I couldn’t... It was Chris’ 21st birthday slash engagement party, a huge society event. We were all invited, all three of us, and with our history…  
Me not showing up would have been perceived as making a statement, a negative one, no matter what the reason. Emily would have dragged me there even if I’d been half dead, just to avoid the gossip. It felt weird, seeing Chris, but to my surprise we were actually civil towards each other. He’d changed. I know I shouldn’t have been so surprised, I mean, it had been five years. Things happen in five years, and people change. After all, I had, so why not him? Still… To me he was still sixteen, not to say he wasn’t, in some ways, but well. He’d grown up some.  
We met a couple times more that year, at parties during the summer and at Christmas, and then the wedding invites came. By then, I’d come to terms with it, I thought, but was I wrong… See, my invitation was issued for ‘Lorelai Gilmore and Michael Walters’, Michael being the guy I was dating then – or to be more precise: the guy I had just decided to break up with.”

“Ah. The date you hated, I presume?”

“Exactly. I met Michael at Yale, just after Christmas break, through some mutual friends. I thought he was nice, rather good-looking, and he seemed to have a pleasant sense of humor Plus, he wasn’t from Hartford society, which made **me** happy, but still had a respectable enough background to make my parents happy. Which again made **me** happy… So when he asked me out for coffee I accepted, every time. And when he asked me out for a real date, you know, dinner and dancing, after a month I again accepted.  
Problem was **he** didn’t make me happy. Just bored. He was pre-law, and knew exactly who I was, or rather who my parents were, and what advantages he could get from dating me. And that sense of fun? Not so much. Still, I didn’t want to just give up at once. I gave him two months before deciding to break things off. The next day I got the invitations. Which of course made dumping him impossible – again, the rules of society came into play. Or rather the need to save face, I guess. It’s like in ancient Japan – anything to save face, even if it means killing yourself. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

 _She doesn’t sound like she really means that,_ he notes, alarmed. _Doesn’t look like it either. What could have happened to make her talk about suicide like that?_

“Anyway, when I saw both our names on that invitation I knew two things. First, that Emily had told Francine Hayden everything about Michael and me, even stuff that didn’t exist outside her imagination. Second, that there was no way I could show up at that wedding without Michael. So I gave him a second chance. Or rather a third, a fourth and a tenth – just counting the days until the wedding so I could get rid of him.  
My mother, however, saw a quite different future for us – one with **me** wearing a wedding dress. That was one of the reasons behind the dress she got me for that day, I just know it. To either get Michael to propose, or to line up some replacements. I felt like a whore, like a piece of meat, available to the highest bidder. And I just remember standing there, waiting for Michael to come pick me up, hating it all. Waiting for that awful day to end, wishing for some miracle to happen, making it possible for me to not participate.”

“You said you hated the fact that ‘he’, Chris, was getting married. Why was that? Did you still have feelings for him? Did you want it to be you with him in the church that day?”

She immediately shakes her head, firmly, absolutely certain of what she’s about to say.

“No. Not like that. Yes, I hated it, at least that’s the only word I know that fits what I felt. But, it wasn’t like that, really. If I’d wanted to marry Chris, well, let’s just say that we would already have been married if that had been the case. No, the only one possibly harboring that kind of thoughts that day would have been Emily. Did I still have feelings for him? Of course. He was my first love. You don’t forget something like that – or at least I didn’t.  
But the Chris I had feelings for was the Chris of more than six years earlier, not the Chris standing there that day – that Chris I didn’t know. And that brings us to why I hated him getting married. What I hated wasn’t **that** he got married, it was more of **how**. That it was all so easy for him, doing things the way he once told me he despised.  
Going to Princeton. Getting engaged at 21, to some girl his parents had introduced him to and approved. Getting married right out of college, and have a summer of fun with his new wife before accepting a position at her father’s firm. And I hated that it had been so easy for him to move on, when I had such a hard time doing so. Still, it was a wonderful wedding. Until…”

“Until what? Lorelai, did something happen at the wedding? It did, didn’t it? Tell me about it, please?”

She sits so still, pale and wide-eyed, practically radiating pain. He doesn’t know if its pain remembered or pain still existing, but he doesn’t really care. It’s pain. It’s hurting her soul. And so it needs to be removed. Easily said, not so easily done.

“I was sitting at a table, after dinner, sipping some champagne and trying to calculate how early I could get out using the ‘I’m soooo sorry, but I have this killer head ache’-excuse when someone came up behind me…”

_Flashback:_

_“Enjoying yourself, Lorelai?”_

_After all these years she still knew his voice well enough that there was no need to turn around. Still, that was the polite way to do it so that was what she did._

_“Chris.” She debated what to say, finally settling on something true, but not **too** true. Acceptable._

_“The ceremony was lovely. Sarah was so beautiful – the dress was a knock-out. And the reception… Lovely flower-arrangements, truly, and the food was superb,”_ “just not very you” she thinks, _“plus, great champagne. Francine sure knows how to buy it.”_ “Ouch. Didn’t mean for that to come out.”

_“Yeah, I guess she does,” he laughs. “So, I guess we’ll be seeing each other on another one of these soon? Just, then you’ll be the one uncomfortable while I get to sip champagne.”_

_“Excuse me?” She wondered what on earth he was talking about, and apparently he caught something on her face. But, being Chris, he totally misread it._

_“Oh, sorry. Will I not be invited? Or wasn’t I supposed to know yet? I overheard Emily talking to my mother just now, see, and…”_

_“Chris. Stop. You overheard them talking about what?”_

_“Your wedding. Or that’s what I gathered at least. To be precise, Michael’s name and something about what a nice boy he was. Your name. Something about a winter wedding, with a Romanov-theme. I just assumed…”_

_“Well, you know what they say about people who assume.”_ “Too sharp, Lorelai, too sharp. Calm down.” _“Knowing Emily she might be describing the wedding she had planned for the two of us.”_ “Shit! Dammit, Lorelai, that was just plain stupid!”

_Chris’ face was a study in wonder, terror, and even more feelings she couldn’t describe. Then he started sputtering, not able to get more than a word or two out before breaking off, staying silent for a few seconds before trying again. At the same time she frantically tried to figure out a save._

_“What… Emily, she… When… **Our** wedding? Lorelai, I… Did you…” And in his voice she heard panic, and strangely enough something sounding very much like longing. She knew what he was trying to ask. Did she, Lorelai, once think they were going to get married? Did she hate him for marrying someone else? Did she still love him?_

_“Chris. Please, just… Please be quiet. I didn’t mean that. Not like that. You know Emily; you know what she’s like. She probably started planning our wedding about five minutes after you showed up for my sixth birthday.”_

_Something in his face still scared her. There was something there that made her think he was close to suggesting that they should leave, together. And something inside her whispered softly_ “What scares you most? That he’ll do that, or that he won’t?” Not thoughts she wanted to have.

“Great, Lorelai. Just great. The very last thing to do at a wedding is to bring up the fact that you’ve had an affair with either groom or bride. So of course you just had to. Get yourself out of here, now, before you tell him everything.”

 _“I’m sorry, Chris. I didn’t mean to bring up the past. Sarah seems like a great girl. I hope you have a good marriage, I really do. Would you give her my best wishes? I really need to go find Michael now, can’t leave him alone here for too long. You never know what might happen.”_ “Like him overhearing Emily’s wedding plans…”

_Michael was standing by the champagne, looking suitably lonely. He asked her to dance, and she accepted even though all she wanted to do was go home, consoling herself with the fact that she would never have to do anything she didn’t want with him again. She would dump him the next day, and that was the bright light at the end of the tunnel she had found herself in._

_After a song and a half she asked him to take her home, the fake head ache she’d planned on now a reality. He agreed, and they left after making their good-byes. During the ride home she sat quiet, again cursing her stupidity, hoping that Chris hadn’t gotten the wrong idea._

_When they reached the Gilmore residence he followed her to the door. After unlocking it she turned around to say goodbye, only then realizing that he expected to be invited. That he expected them to go up to her room and have sex._

_He whined, like a spoiled brat, bitching about her being cold, an ice-queen, a tease, a waste of his time… The threat obvious: sleep with me or we’re through._ “Moron. Like I’d care. Still….”

_“Michael… I really do have a terrible head ache. Plus, it’s not like the house is empty. Also, since I left early my parents are most likely cutting their evening short as well. Now, if I’d planned on us having sex, then wouldn’t we be on our way to your hotel now? You know, for privacy? The only thing I want to do right now is go straight to bed, only stopping for Aspirin, and sleep like the dead. Please? Why don’t you go back to the hotel, get some sleep as well, and call me tomorrow? I’ll come over and we’ll have brunch together, the food’s really good there…”_

_He finally left, still not happy, but appeased by the implied promise that she’d come over for sex the following day. She locked the door carefully, then went to her room and fell into bed._

_End flashback_

“But, sleeping was impossible. Not only because I had a headache, but that was a large part. The pain made it really hard for me to relax, and the anger towards Michael didn’t make it any easier. I knew that Aspirin was out of the question, because of my meds and the champagne I’d had at the wedding, and so was another drink – as I really wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol at all. Instead I settled for some herbal tea that Emily had gotten me, _‘It’s supposed to be soothing, dear’_ , and took my cup into the living room. The next thing I remember is waking up at the hospital. That’s it. I promise.”

She looks at him, pleading, and he believes her. The pain in her eyes and her voice is too apparent, too raw, for this to be a lie. Also, he doesn’t thin she’s left anything out. Her story rings true. And so he tells her.

“I believe you, Lorelai. I know it wasn’t easy to tell me this, I really do. And I’m sorry to have made you relive that pain. But I truly believe it’s for the best, I do. This way it’s out in the open. We can look at it, examine it, analyze it and put it into proportion. I believe that in not too long this memory will no longer cause you pain.”

“But maybe we better stop here for the day?” He catches her hesitant nod, and continues: “Do you remember that schedule I promised you? Good. Here. Do you see any problems?”

“Yeah, I do… I know I said I’d take the time to come whenever you wanted me to, but things finally fell into place with the funeral… It is tomorrow, and Emily and I will most likely work ourselves to death tonight finalizing things, but that means I can’t come until the day after. I know your time is important, and that you could have spent the time helping others…”

She looks guilty, and he tries to assure her.

“It’s fine, it really is. I’ll just use the time to do some paperwork instead. I’d rather spend the time with you, of course, but paperwork does a tendency to pile up… Also, as you might notice I’ve scheduled you late. In fact, you will be my last appointment each time we meet. I figured you’d need to cancel at least once, due to the funeral and everything surrounding it. So it’s perfectly okay.”

She gives him a soft, grateful smile, and stands up to leave.

“See you in two days the, Dr Marshall. Thank you.”

“Goodbye, Lorelai. Take care tomorrow.”

After she leaves he thinks about what she’s told him. There are tons of clues there, he just knows it. But, at the moment he isn’t really up to finding them and deciphering everything she’s said. He needs dinner, and sleep, before doing this. _Tomorrow,_ he tells himself. _Since she’s not coming I have an hour free in the afternoon. I’ll use that to think about this. To think about Chris…_


	7. Interludes: Google-Bitch

**Interludes**

**_To Google or Not to Google?_ **

Robert Marshall sat at his desk, thinking about Lorelai Gilmore and Christopher Hayden. He really thought he was on to something there, with the whole “Chris-thing”.

_Chris, Chris… Are you the reason why Lorelai is sick? Did you send her over the edge, twisting her life unto the point where she doesn’t feel she really has a life of her own anymore? Are you responsible for her being this shadow of a woman?_

It sounded right – but at the same time not. One person couldn’t be the entire reason for all of this, could he?

Robert Marshall went over the facts in his head once more.  
At sixteen Lorelai left the country, being “sent off” as she called it. Somewhere around that same time she and Chris broke up, not exactly ending things in a friendly way. At nineteen, at graduation, Lorelai broke down, the start of over a decade of depression, medication and psychiatric treatment. Shortly before her 21st birthday she’d relapsed, after seeming near complete recovery, a relapse culminating a year later in hospitalization after she’d been found in a catatonic state. Following that event Lorelai had once again been sent abroad, where she’d obviously still suffered from something. And now, showing clear signs of increasing depression –due to her grandmother’s death, sure, but still…

He then went over the incidents again. Lorelai had admitted to having been rather hung up on the Europe-trip. And her first breakdown happened at exactly the same time that she’d once thought she’d leave – with Chris. She’d relapsed around the time that she met Chris for the first time in five years – the same night he had gotten engaged. Her catatonia had taken place immediately after Chris’ wedding. _And wasn’t there something about a Hayden in the news, just weeks ago?_ The memory was vague, one of those “tip of the tongue”-things, but it rang true. _Hmmmm…_ So far, as he had been able to determine there had been something or other going on with Chris every time Lorelai had broken down. Just how connected were those incidents? _And what’s to say that her breakdown in -87 **was** the first? All I have is Laura Jones’ word. And **she** only had what Richard and Emily Gilmore said to base that on. Could that be why she was sent away three years earlier?_

He found himself faced with a moral predicament. Everything pointed to Chris being the key. That half-remembered piece of news might prove or disprove this theory. All he needed to do was to Google the man. But, during their first session he’d promised Lorelai not to engage in any unnecessary investigations into her life. Did that promise include this? And if it did, was this really important enough for him to be excused? He was tip-toeing the line here, and any mistake on his part might ruin any chance to “cure” her for quite some time ahead.

 _Do I Google him or not?_ He sat there, minutes and hours ticking away, pondering the question in front of him, feeling very much like a modern day version of a certain Danish prince…

**_Goodbye Is a Bitch_ **

Lorelai shifted in her seat, not really wanting to get up just yet. Still, she had no option, something made clear by the pointed looks sent her way by Emily. So she rose up, and slowly made her way to the front of the church.

“We are here today to say goodbye to Lorelai ‘Trix’ Gilmore, a fantastic woman. Most of you might recognize me, but for those who don’t I’m ‘the Second Lorelai’, Trix’s granddaughter.  
But, to me Trix was more than my grandmother. She was my role model, my rock, my comfort and for a time my substitute parent. I would not be the woman I am today if not for Trix. She gave me everything I needed, even when I myself wasn’t aware that I needed them.  
She was my guiding light, and right now things feel really dark without her. Still, I will have to trust that she’s taught me enough to make it on my own. And, when that’s not possible, I will trust what she told me when I left her in London to come back here: ‘I will always be with you, Lorelai. Just look into your heart and you will find me there.’  
I loved her, and I miss her. And now I’m supposed to be able to just let her go, to say goodbye. Well, goodbyes are a bitch, something she and I agreed upon. So, I won’t say that. Instead I’ll say ‘See you later, Trix. See you later…’”

Not bothering to look at her parents, knowing what she’d see, she made her way back to her seat, the tears finally being allowed to fall freely. Sitting down, she felt a small hand touching hers, briefly, comforting. Leigh…

And the ceremony continued.


	8. Interlude: A Letter from the Past

**Interlude: A Letter from the Past**

Lorelai stared at the envelope in her hand, just as she had done for the last hour. A letter from Trix. An **old** letter from Trix. It had been stored with her will, for three years now, according to Trix’ lawyer, and she had no idea what could be in it. She wasn’t even sure she **wanted** to know. If she’d understood the man right Trix had changed her will just weeks after Lorelai had graduated Yale, making slight changes to her advantage – at the same time leaving this letter. _Something must have happened,_ Lorelai thought, _but do I want to know what? On the other hand, considering everything Trix did for me, can I not read this?_

Taking a deep breath she steeled herself, then ripped the letter open and read it. Then she sat stunned, before reading it again, more slowly this time, with an unbelieving look on her face.

“What the hell…?” she yelled, not wanting to believe what she’d just read. But there it was, in black on white: proof that maybe her relationship with Trix wasn’t as great as she’d thought.

_“My dearest Lorelai,  
If you are reading this it means that I’m gone. It also means that at the time of my death I still haven’t been able to find the courage needed to talk to you. About what, you might think, seeing as we talk all the time, about almost everything. But not about what really matters, about the most important thing of them all._

_See, I know what happened when you were sixteen – what was done to you. I know, and I have known for a while now._

_I found out by chance, when visiting for your graduation a few weeks ago. I saw some things, overheard something, and finally put two and two together. At first I couldn’t believe it, it was too impossible, and I could not believe that my son would do that to his own daughter, his flesh and blood. So I confronted him. To my horror he admitted it at once, not even bothering to try and lie. He claimed to have acted in the best interest of everyone, and nothing I said could make him abandon that position. We argued, yelled, called each other names… No point. The next day I left, claiming urgent business had called me home. Richard of course guessed the truth, but said nothing. As far as I know he never mentioned this ‘conversation’ to Emily._

_Ever since I have racked my brain, trying to find a better solution, a way to help you, to bring this up with you. I have even prayed – something I haven’t done since my husband died. But nothing. So instead I’m writing you this letter that will be left in the safekeeping of my lawyer, to be handed over in case of my death. I truly hope that I will find a way to talk to you before that happens, but I don’t want to leave you without telling you the truth._

 _I can’t tell you how to live your life, dear, but I can tell you this: try to be happy, Lorelai. Whatever it takes, **whatever**. Please. Don’t think about your parents, or me, or what society will think. Think about **you** and what will make you happy. I have done what I can to leave you financially independent – it’s not what you need the most, I know, but at least it might be a help. As you know by now I’ve not only left you 50 percent of ‘Thrilll’ but also complete control of the business for now. There’s also the Hartford-house, as I would never take your home away – that has been done enough by now I believe – and some knick-knacks. Do as you please with everything, but I hope that you will keep the jewelery given me by your grandfather – you know which pieces I mean. Wear them, allow them to remind you that there is real love in the world, and – I truly hope that you someday will be able to do this – pass them on to your children._

_I’ll keep this short, seeing as you probably have your hands full by now. If not with trying to explain everything to your father, then with trying to keep Emily calm – yes, I admit, I made the arrangements for my funeral knowing fully that there was no way she’d be able to make it all work. Let’s call it my last little joke on her behalf. And of course, as usual, there’s you and your needs at the end of the list. Try to change that, will you? If nowhere else, you need to have top priority in your own life._

_So, my dear, my last wish for you is simple: be happy, and live!  
And remember, I’ll always be with you, Lorelai. Always. I may not be able to hold you or sing to you anymore, but I will be with you anyway. This I truly believe._

_With all my love,  
Trix_

_PS. I know this might be the last thing you want to hear, but it is my belief that Richard regrets his actions, no matter what he may claim. I hope that the two of you will come to some sort of understanding, if not at peace with each other. He loves you, Lorelai, and it hurts me that the two of you are estranged. Try and search you heart, Lorelai, and see if there is any forgiveness to be found there. No matter what the answer though I will still love you.”_

Lorelai just sat there. _She knew? She knew! And yet she did nothing? She knew why my heart was breaking more and more everyday, why I was loosing my mind, and the only thing she did was write a letter?_

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” She screamed, not caring if anyone heard her, needing to vent her anger before it got the best of her. Not satisfied she thought for a moment, and then went down to the kitchen. There she went through the cupboards and drawers, selecting every odd piece of glass or china – ending with quite a collection. She then carried all of it out on the patio where she thoroughly crashed every single piece, stomping on those that refused to break into small enough parts. When she was done she was flustered and short of breath, and the patio was a disaster zone. Still, she felt better. A lot better.

After sweeping the patio clear of debris she went back to her desk, sat down and read the letter once more. Tried to think about it without anger clouding her mind, tried to detach herself from it – tried to find what Trix had wanted her to see.


	9. Did You Know…

**Chapter 6: Did You Know…**

“Hello, Lorelai. Did everything go well yesterday? Oh, that didn’t sound too good did it? I meant…”

“It’s okay, I understand. It was fine, I guess, as far as the arrangements went. Everything fell into place, no one embarrassed anyone else, and so on. The funeral in itself though was brutal, but I guess that’s always the case when you bury someone you love. The reading of the will… It was interesting. The look on my father’s face when he found out about ‘Thrilll’ and everything surrounding it – priceless. Of course, it didn’t take him long to try and talk me into letting him run it for me, seeing as I was so young, so inexperienced… God! The fact is he thinks he knows best when it comes to **everything** and this simply was no exception.  
To be honest, maybe he’d do better. He is good, I’ll give him that. But, see, he’d do things differently from how **I** intend to, and I’m not so sure his way is better. The results probably would be, but the methods? I prefer my way, thank you very much. And, seeing as Trix gave me complete control, my way it is. And yes, since I’m sure you’re going to ask, that means that I’ll go ahead with the Independence Inn – I have a meeting booked with the current owner tomorrow actually. Plus, I’m also going house shopping.”

“Oh? Did Trix not leave you the house you’re currently living in then?” He is surprised. He would have taken that for certain.

“Oh yeah, she did. But I’ve decided that I’d rather find a house of my own. You know, one that’s mine from the beginning. I’ve never had a home of my own, not really, it’s always been my parents’ or Trix’ – and three years in a Yale dorm of course. But never something that’s been completely my own. I think that it’s about time, don’t you?”

“Sounds like you believe it’s time, and that’s the only important thing. So, will you stay here in Hartford?”

“Oh no.” She smiles a little, a smile slightly tinted with what looks like bitterness, and shakes her head.

“At the inn I work with this amazing chef, Sookie. She’s the closest thing I have to a friend I guess, and every now and then she drags me over to her hometown. It’s this really crazy small-town, as far from society that you can imagine, and full of ‘characters’. Lunatics, I guess some would call them.  
For instance, there’s the town jack of all trades, Mick; who not only has twenty or so jobs but also is contemplating changing his name to Kirk – in honor of **the** Kirk of course. ‘Beam me up, Scotty’… Then there’s the town selectman, Taylor, who could seriously give Emily Gilmore a run for her money when it comes to being a perfectionist.  
Oooo, and the dance-teacher! She’s unbelievable, she’s been married a ton of times, and she’s always looking for ‘husband number next’. I love her! And then there’s a diner, located in an old hardware store, and yes, the sign still says it’s a hardware store. I think the owner keeps it on purpose just to drive Taylor insane. I’ve heard it’s because his dad owned the hardware store, before, but I’d bet on Taylor being the reason.  
Anyway, this guy, the owner, he’s like the grumpiest man ever, but his burgers…! They are to die for. Not even Sookie can top those. Plus, the coffee there is the best I’ve tasted. I’d put money on it being the best coffee in the world. The funny thing though, the owner, he’s really into people eating healthy and such. So, when I’m there I always go in and claim that I just **have** to have coffee, because I’ve only had like ten cups that day. Some days it might be the only coffee I drink, because even though I love coffee it’s not exactly the best way to sleep, and I have enough problems in that department anyway. But he doesn’t know that, and he gets so agitated, and tries to offer me decaf. I love seeing him all riled up…” she breaks off, looking slightly embarrassed.

_Hmmm. Looks like that place, and that **guy** , means a lot to her. Something to look into. Later though._

“This place, does it have a name?”

“Yes. Stars Hollow. And I love it. It’s so calm, and I feel so at peace there. So, when I started thinking about selling Trix’ place and getting something else that’s where I saw myself living in the future.  
Oh, Taylor will drive me crazy, no doubt, but firstly I’m used to Emily and secondly two can play that game. And I think I will actually feel at home there, you know, find friends, and have a life… So, tomorrow I’m seeing a real estate agent for my first five viewings. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“I’m happy for you. Now, is there something you’d like to add? No? Then I have a couple of questions. First, when we ended our last session you’d just told me about the events leading up to you ending up in the hospital. What happened when you woke up?”

“Ah… Well, there were tons of doctors, naturally, and then Laura – poor, sweet, stupid Laura with her pills and platitudes. Then I started getting visitors. The first two days it was just immediate family, but on the third day Michael showed up.  
God, he was such a cliché, with red roses and a box of chocolate, radiating false concern. Telling me how I had to take better care of myself, how I ‘needed someone to take care of’ me – meaning him, of course. And I just knew he was about to propose, it was so obvious. I got really angry with him – I mean, hello? I’d just woken up after two weeks in a catatonic state and here he is, proposing? In **the hospital**? Idiot,” she mutters obviously still annoyed.

“So I gave it to him good. Just broke of what he was about to say, and told that maybe I did need someone, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him. He looked like a fish out of water. He was so certain I’d be grateful and accept, and the idea that I might be bored with him had obviously never even crossed his mind. Too bad for him. But when I told him I didn’t want to see him again, neither as a date nor in any other way, but that I appreciated the chocolate…  
Oh my god. Normally I’d have been terrified, because he looked like he could have done anything, but just then… I know this must sound crazy, but the only thing going through my head was ‘Well, if he hurts me at least I’m already in the hospital, I’ll be cared for in an instant’.  
Unbelievable now, I know, but then I wasn’t thinking too clearly I guess. I stayed for a week, seeing Laura a couple of times, but not really caring. I knew I’d never go back to seeing her once I was out of the hospital, no matter what.”

“But, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I just have to ask. When you returned from London you started seeing her again, voluntarily as I understand it?”

“Yeah. Remember what I said? ‘Pills and platitudes’. I might have been more than happy to be rid of her platitudes, but unfortunately I still needed the pills. There was the option of finding a new psychiatrist, but I didn’t want that. See, by then I’d learned how to manipulate Laura. She was so intent on acting like my friend that she forgot to act like my shrink, and so I could keep her from digging into things I wasn’t ready to talk about. Someone new might have been able to see through all that. Someone like you.  
And yes, I know, it probably would have been better for me if that had happened, but I wasn’t ready then.”

“Then no psychiatrist in the world would have been able to help you. Without the will to get better, that feeling of being ready, there’s not that much that can be done.”

She smiles, seeming a little comforted by his statement.

“Anyway, when that week was up I was released and returned to my parents’ house. Where I, as you know, found my belongings packed. It felt like a blow in the face. Here I was, still weak and insecure after my ‘illness’ and hospital visit, and they were kicking me out? It really hurt. Of course, seeing as how they had reacted when they found out that instead of accepting Michael’s proposal I’d broken up with him, I thought they were punishing me.”

“For not getting engaged?” _Okay, so society families are strange, even slightly insane, but this? Who would do that?_

“Yes. At least that’s how I felt. You see, all I wanted was to stay at home for a while, try and enjoy the summer in a safe environment, before trying to pick up the pieces of my existence again, but instead I got **that**. To me it felt like a punishment. For once more failing to be a good daughter – not only in breaking up with a man who was willing to marry me, but also because I was an embarrassment with my breakdowns and my fragile psyche.  
They **did** separate me from everything I cared for.  
Today I’m willing to say that my parents probably thought they were doing it for my own good, but it still hurts. Yes, Trix and I got along great, and London really was good to me, but what if that hadn’t been the case? And I’ll **never** believe that it wasn’t possible to wait for a few more days.” 

_Okay, so is now a good time to ask her about Chris? I’m not sure that there will ever be a good time to do that, so maybe the question should be if now will be any worse than later? Probably not. Well then, here goes._

“Lorelai, did you know Christopher Hayden recently filed for a divorce?”

That hits her like a ton of bricks. She’s still caught up in her memories and it takes a few moments for her to register what he’s just asked.

“Did I… what? No, well, yes, maybe… I… I’m sorry,” and she collects herself. “I’ve probably heard something about it, because really, Emily Gilmore knows everything that happens in Hartford society. But, I rarely listen, you know? I’m not that interested, but instead of arguing about it I look like I’m listening to her while in fact I’m going through work schedules for the inn or something. So, no, I didn’t know.”

“Ah. Do you know, I find it interesting. The Hayden-divorce was all over the news, Lorelai, plus there’s the fact that the two of you go way back. And I’m supposed to believe that you just missed it? That you of all people missed what probably every person over the age of five in Hartford knows?”

He sees her about to protest, but doesn’t give her the opportunity. Instead he just goes on, determined to finish this now that he’s started. It’s no turning back now.

“Lorelai, did he ask you to take him back? Is he getting a divorce to be with you? Is that what you wanted to talk to Trix about, Chris leaving his wife for you?”

“No!”

“Come on. Every time you break down, look around and there’s Chris in the background. Now, with a divorce. When you ended up in the hospital he was there, with his new marriage. When you grew depressed the year before, with his engagement. When you graduated, with his absence and the fact that the two of you weren’t in fact going on your trip and then on to college. And then there’s the fact that you got sent off when the two of you broke up.  
Why were you sent off, Lorelai? Wasn’t it in fact because you had your first breakdown then? Because your parents covered it up then, and sent you away instead of finding you help?  
Lorelai?  
Chris is all over your past, Lorelai, everywhere I look there he is, and everywhere he’s found so is one of your depressions or breakdowns. Can you really tell me that Chris isn’t the key to all this?”

He finishes, and waits for her response. Can’t she see what he sees? Is she going to try and deny what he’s just said, or will she finally open up completely?

“Are you serious? I thought you were a professional. I thought you were supposed to help me, not just try and blame people. Are you really trying to blame Chris for all of this? My god, just how stupid are you? I wish it was that easy. But, you know what? I don’t have to sit here and listen to this crap, and I sure as hell won’t!”

And he just sits there, taken aback by her anger, and sees her storm out, not even able to react when the force of her slamming the door shut makes a framed photograph fall from the wall. 

_Oh. Looks like I **really** screwed up here. But, was she angry because I’m wrong or because I’m not? If she comes back I’ll have to try and find a better approach because obviously there’s something there. “I wish it was that easy”, what did she mean by that? Am I making as huge a mistake here as Laura Jones did? Should I–_

“Did you know I got pregnant at fifteen?”

He resists the shock, the urge to immediately to turn and face the door. Instead he sits completely still, not even daring to look in that direction. Is he hearing things? Or can his patient, the one that stormed out of here less than five minutes ago, actually be saying this? _How could I not know this? How could she keep this from me? Doesn’t she understand the importance of this?_

“No, of course you didn’t, no one knows. That was, after all, the deal.”

He finally dares to raise his head and look at her. She’s leaning against the door frame, pale and wide-eyed, looking like she might faint any minute. He tries to project calm, trustworthiness, and gestures slightly towards the chair she’s just left. She walks towards it and sits, not gracefully like she normally does, more like a boneless sack that just happens to tumble into the right place.

“The deal? No, wait. No questions. Just tell me, in your own words and pace, everything. Just tell me, Lorelai. Don’t you think it’s time you told **someone**?”

She still looks ready to faint, white as a sheet, visibly shaking. He gives her time though, figuring that even if he wants to go to her and comfort her that might just be the last thing she needs. Right now, she needs to get this out. Then, when that’s done, he can try comfort.

“I guess so…” Her voice is barely audible, he has to strain his ears to catch it, and that too is trembling.

“It was a month before my sixteenth birthday. I was supposed to be downstairs, sitting for a portrait. Instead I was still in my room, trying without success to get my dress closed. It was supposed to fit like a glove, and did when I’d had my last fitting two weeks later. Still, the zipper just wouldn’t close.  
My mom came up looking for me, upset that I wasn’t in place, and when she realized I had a problem with my dress she tried to pull the zipper up herself, not succeeding either, no matter how much she told me to hold my breath. She got even more upset then, and told me that not only was I to start jogging the next day but that also there would be no dessert for me until I’d lost weight. What was I thinking, becoming fat less than two months before my débutante ball?  
When she left I started thinking. I knew I hadn’t done anything to gain weight, in fact I hadn’t eaten my dessert in weeks – suddenly I just couldn’t stand sweets. Salty stuff, like liquorice, sure. But no sweets – they made me gag. And then it hit me. I was late. I hadn’t really thought about it, seeing as there had been a lot going on lately, but once I checked my calendar it was obvious.  
So I snuck out and went to the closest drugstore and bought a pregnancy test. I ran all the way home, not able to wait another minute. I hurried through everything, hoping that I would be mistaken, but no such luck. So I just sat there, on my bed, staring at the test.  
That’s how Emily found me. She was going to talk to me about gaining weight, and sneaking out, and probably a lot more, but never got to it. She entered before I could hide the test, and then all hell broke loose.”

_Flashback:_

_“Lorelai Victoria Gilmore! Is that what I think it is?”_

_“Yes mother.” She didn’t even try to pretend otherwise, or even make one of her usual flip remarks, she just admitted it. What was the point of delaying the unavoidable?_

_“It’s Christopher, I assume.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Well.” Emily’s face was a cold masque, her voice icy. “Well. Your father will be home in two hours. He and I will call Straub and Francine, and we’ll all talk about this tonight.”_

_“Mom! No!”_

_“What? Lorelai, try to be reasonable. They have to be involved in this as well, if nothing else I’m guessing that Straub will have some thoughts about a pre nuptial agreement.”_

_“A pre-nup? Mom, no! Look, don’t… Chris doesn’t know, okay?”_

_“How could he not know, Lorelai? He’s not stupid.”_

_“I just found out five seconds ago. I didn’t even suspect until today. And Chris has been grounded for over a week, remember? The Porsche-incident?”_

_“Oh. Still, he will have to be told, just as his parents, and there’s no point in delaying it. We will tell all of them together tonight. The wedding will have to be quiet, of course, but we could still make it nice I guess. You’ll live here, of course, and I guess Christopher can be found some work at your father’s firm.”_

_“Wedding? Mother, no! I’m not marrying Chris!!! For heaven’s sake, I’m not even sixteen yet!”_

_“Well, you should have thought about that before! Lorelai, there’s a way things like this are handled. If you get pregnant you get married. It’s not how we’d pictured it, but there’s no helping it now.”_

_“I’m not marrying Chris, mom. You can’t make me.”_

_“It’s bad enough that my only daughter will be a teenage mother. I will not have her be an **unwed** one as well. Or were you thinking about an abortion?” Emily’s voice grew even icier._

_“No, I… Mom, I’ve known about this for less than an hour. It’s not like I’ve made plans! But I don’t think an abortion’s the right thing.”_

_Emily just **looked** at her, making her feel like a naughty child. Then she nodded, sharply and obviously came to a decision._

_“As I said, your father will be home in two hours. Think about what I’ve said, Lorelai, and we’ll talk again then.”  
End flashback_

“She locked me in my room, and there I sat for two hours, thinking really hard about her options. An abortion felt wrong, like murdering my child – something that really surprised me, seeing as I had actually participated in a Chilton-rally in support of free abortion. I guess that it just shows that you can believe in something even though it will turn out to be something you yourself can’t imagine.  
And marrying Chris… See, I loved him, I really did, but that didn’t mean I was blind to his faults. Take the grounding then, for instance. His parents got him a car for his sixteenth birthday, a Porsche. It was beautiful – for two hours. Then he crashed it. Resulting in him being grounded for the rest of that week and the following, not even allowed to leave the house for school. In fact, someone stayed with him at all times, making sure the rules were abided by. No visitors, no phone calls, not even any letters – nothing that would allow me to contact him, because his parents felt that I was to blame for the incident.  
And in a way I can see why, because Chris and I got into a lot of trouble back then. Always together – which made a lot of people believe that since Chris was the weaker person I must be the driving force. I had myself to blame for that, I guess, since I took the blame quite a lot. See, I got off easier being a girl, and my parents weren’t as hard as Chris’ father. Still, I would have liked it if even once he’d taken his share of the blame. Instead he always went with whatever story I concocted, grateful not to be blamed. I guess he did the same that time, just went with it.  
And that’s Chris for you. Always taking the path of least resistance. If he’d been the one having to choose he wouldn’t have, he’d just have agreed to whatever he’d been told was the right thing. So, I knew what he would say, faced with a pregnancy and an order to get married, something along the lines of ‘Let’s do it, it’s what everyone wants, and we love each other’.  
Probably adding ‘It’ll be fun’, because that was who he was: always looking for fun. The problem was that to him it would have been a game, and he always tired of all games. Hide-and-seek, baseball and every other game you can name. Why would playing house be any different? It sure wasn’t when we were kids.  
So when my dad showed up I was prepared. I had all the reasons for it being a bad idea for Chris and I to marry lined up, I’d even taken the time to write them down, and thought I would be able to handle anything my dad threw at me. I was wrong.” 

_Flashback:_

_“Young lady.” He looked angry, she noted. Not angry like normally, though, more furious. Angry in a way she’s never seen before. Richard Gilmore was often referred to as a ruthless businessman and now his daughter saw why._

_“Daddy, I…”_

_“No. I’ll speak, and you’ll listen. Your mother tells me you and Christopher have gotten yourselves into a predicament. She also told me that you refuse to do the right thing and get married. Is that correct?”_

_“Well, I…”_

_“I see. Is this Christopher’s idea? Is he trying to avoid responsibility again?”_

_“He doesn’t know, dad. I told mom, I haven’t spoken to him in almost two weeks. He’s not trying to avoid anything, this is me talking.”_

_“I see.” Richard looked at her, again, still furious but a little calmer now she thought. “Well, do you want an abortion?”_

_“No, dad. I thought about it, but I can’t. It’d feel like murder, and I–”_

_“Fine. I can’t say I’m happy about the situation, but I’d rather you didn’t choose that solution. So, that brings us back to Christopher. Have you reconsidered marrying him?”_

_“Daddy, I can’t. I’m not even sixteen yet, and Chris is… Well, you know him. He’s like five and a half – there’s no way we can get married. It’d be a disaster for everyone, and I’d not place a cent on it lasting even until we turn 21.”_

_“Lorelai, I understand that Chris is weak and spoiled, but there is a right way to do these things, and that’s marriage. Christopher will grow up, I believe, if not before so once the baby is born. Then after college he can come work with me, and I’ll make sure he grows up.”_

_“No, daddy! You can’t force us to get married, and even if you could, there’s no way you could make that marriage work. It would crash, I can promise you that. Just like Chris’ Porsche. Is that what you want for me?”_

_“Of course not. But this is about what I want, young lady, because if it was do you really think I would chose to have my daughter pregnant at fifteen? Do you? But, as I said, this isn’t about me. Nor is it about you, Lorelai, it’s about what’s proper and about that child you’re carrying. So am I to understand that you refuse to have an abortion, as well as to get married?”_

_She nodded, feeling small, thinking that he sounded calmer and that maybe they were getting somewhere. Not expecting what is to come…_

_“Well then. If that’s how you insist on doing this. Lorelai, I believe your mother told you that our only child being an unmarried teenage mother wasn’t an option?”_

_She nodded again, with an increasing sense of dread._

_“If you insist on doing this on your own, then on your own you will be. You will be emancipated as soon as it can be arranged, I’m sure I can get Straub to file the paperwork Monday, and then you will leave. You can take whatever you want from your room, and your tuition is paid until the summer, but that’s it. Once you leave, you will not try to contact your mother or me again. You will be on your own. Is that understood? Now, I don’t expect an answer at once. Sleep on it, and tell me at breakfast.”_

_She sat there, unable to believe what he’d just said. They were kicking her out? Get married or get kicked out, was that her options?_

_“Daddy…” She wanted to plead, to make him change his mind, but no other words came out._

_She didn’t know what to say. Instead she watched as he walked to the door. Then he stopped, his hand already on the handle, and turned. Her hope rose._

_“There is one other way, however that will be your final option.”_

_“What daddy?” And she listened with horror as he outlined her “final option”._

_End flashback:_

“It felt like a knife to the gut. I kept hoping I’d wake up, because it had to be a nightmare, but I never did. Instead I saw him leave, heard him lock the door behind him, and was left to ‘sleep on it’.  
Of course, sleeping was out of the question. I spent the night trying to come to a decision, trying to find a solution I could live with. I thought about an abortion, really though about it, but I came to the same conclusion again. I couldn’t. My entire being revolted at the though, screaming ‘murder’. Marrying Chris was next on the list, but again with the revolt – this time the scream was ‘idiot’ though. I knew that what I’d told my dad was true, that there was no way a marriage would work. But, considering the options I had to **really** think about it, give it an equal chance.  
Still, I kept coming back to the same thing: Chris giving up on everything because he lost interest after five minutes. A family would hold his interest for a little longer; at least that’s what I hoped, but not for long enough. He simply wasn’t over being a child, wasn’t ready to be an adult and take responsibility for his actions.  
So I though that maybe the best option was to leave. But it only took me a minute to realize that I wouldn’t make it. I had no skills, no money, no education… I didn’t have a place to stay, or a way to get around, and finding a job? Well, not that many people are willing to hire a pregnant fifteen-year-old who’s never even done the dishes. And even if I found a place to live, and a job, there was the baby. I’d never be able to take care of it on my own, and then what would be the point?  
Plus, if I left it would mean loosing my parents. And strangely enough, even though we didn’t exactly have the best of relationships that’s what stopped me. I couldn’t loose them, no matter how much I sometimes claimed to hate them and the life we lived. This left me with dad’s final option… I cried for hours, and tried to find a way around it, but if there was such a way I just couldn’t see it. So at five in the morning I folded. There was no other way, or so I felt. But I still couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the dining room at sat there waiting for my parents to show up. I sat there for three hours, just waiting, and when they came I just said ‘Fine, I’ll do it’ and fainted.  
That Monday, instead of going to school, seeing Chris for the first time in almost two weeks and promptly getting into more mischief, I stayed in my room. My mother called in, saying I was sick and that it looked serious. I stayed in my room for sixteen days straight, ironically, while my parents were looking for a ‘solution’. I talked to no one, not only did my parents stop any calls but they also kept the maid from entering – saying I was too sick. The only person I saw was my mother, and neither of us felt like chatting.  
Then I was sent away, to Montreal as you know. I was thirteen weeks pregnant then, as I would later find out, and went through a sick period. I also felt detached – from my parents, from my body, from Chris… From everything except the baby growing inside me. It was as if I only lived because of it.  
Things got a little better in Montreal, but I still felt like someone else had taken over my life. I stayed with a retired teacher, who made it her mission to teach me perfect French. Meaning she acted like her English was worse than my French, making it very bad indeed, when in fact it was flawless. I spent the next six months studying like never before, only taking breaks for meals, sleep, walks and prenatal care. My sixteenth birthday went by without notice – instead of a sweet sixteen bash there was lessons, lessons and more lessons.  
One week before the baby was to be born my mother showed up. Just in time too, as I turned out to be a little ahead of schedule. The baby was born the next day – a beautiful baby girl… I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but I named her at once.  
Later I blamed the drugs, but I just knew I had to. I needed her to have, if only for a few days, something of me. So I named her Lorelai. And because she looked like a porcelain doll, reminding me of my mother’s cousin who’d always brought me dolls from different parts of the world – not having any children of her own – I also named her Leigh. Lorelai Leigh… I stayed at the hospital for three days, then for another four at this kind of hotel for patients the hospital had, with my mother and my baby. And for those few days everything felt perfect, like everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be, and I was so happy. The voice inside that kept telling me that this would end was simply pushed back and ignored.  
And then it was over. My precious baby girl… It was wrong, I knew it even then, but I couldn’t stop it, I just couldn’t. And I’ve never been able to forgive myself; I’ve been living in a prison ever since, feeling like on death row. Feeling like I deserve to be. I’ve been paying for it ever since, but there’s no way to atone for my sins. I don’t deserve to be forgiven; I’m a horrible person…” 

He looks at her, terrified, and sees the tears falling down her cheeks. _Could she be saying…? Oh, please God, no. Say it isn’t so!_

“Lorelai?” He has to call her name several times before she reacts, and when she meets his eyes he sees a vacant look in hers. 

“What happened to the baby, Lorelai? What happened to your daughter?” 


	10. Hush Little Baby, Don’t Say a Word…

**Chapter 7: Hush Little Baby, Don’t Say a Word…**

He doesn’t know what to think, what to believe. He’s afraid of what goes through his mind, afraid of what she might say, and for the first time in over twenty years of practicing as a psychiatrist he’s afraid that he’s in over his head.

_I can’t be hearing this, she can’t be saying this. Is she trying to tell me she **killed** her own daughter? It’s starting to sound like it. God, how do I deal if she did? Do I continue treat her? How do I do that then, knowing something like that? Do I refer her to someone else? Do I break confidentiality and report her? No, at least that’s out of the question. Even if she did do it there’s no way I can do **that**. She’s right; she’s been punished ever since. She may not think she deserves forgiveness, but I think I do…_

“My baby doesn’t exist. She never existed. My beautiful baby… Gone. Never there. And I miss her every day…”

_Okay, now I’m confused. Did she just say her baby never existed? What is she talking about? I could have sworn she was telling the truth when she told me about the pregnancy. I still could. So what’s true here? Did she not have a baby? Was it just some product of her imagination, a symptom of a breakdown? Or did the baby die? Is that why she says it never existed? Why, though? Should she just tell me straight out then? And if the baby died, **how** did it die? Could she really have killed it, her? I have to know. She’s actually starting to scare me here…_

“Lorelai! Talk to me. What happened? You daughter, Lorelai, tell me what happened to her.” _But please don’t say what I’m beginning to fear you’ll say._

“Emily took her.”  
 _Oh thank God. At least then I don’t have to worry about that part._

“Okay. Emily took her, but **where**? Where did your mother take your daughter?”

He saw some of the daze leaving Lorelai’s face, her eyes growing a little less vacant, looking like she was returning to herself again. And it was obviously dawning on her that she needed to clarify things.

“I managed to leave that part out, did I? Oh. I guess I probably left a lot of things out… It’s not exactly something I enjoy talking about – or rather thinking about, since I’ve never talked about it with anyone before.  
Let’s see now, uh, okay, first I broke up with Chris – not the other way around. My parents demanded it, it was part of our ‘deal’, and I had to do it in a letter. See, they didn’t trust me to keep quiet if I was allowed to call him, or even worse to see him, and so a letter it was. One they read, of course, and that was sent after I’d already left. They didn’t want Chris to try and sneak in to talk to me. Again, I wasn’t trusted to keep to the deal and say nothing. My dad was real clear about that, no telling **anyone** , not under any circumstances.  
If he finds out about this he’ll be furious, I’m sure. Chris was on the top of his list though, it was especially important that Chris never found out. After all, if Chris ever grew up he might want to have a say in the matter – if he knew he had a child. If he didn’t know, well, one less problem to bother with.”

She sounded bitter – and he didn’t blame her.

“So silence was the first part of the deal, breaking up with Chris the second. The third part was that once the baby was born Emily and Richard would take her – or him, if that had been the case. Once the buzz had died down about me getting ‘sick’ and leaving for ‘boarding school’ my parents waited a little longer, and then quietly announced that they were expecting a second child. That was the bait see, to make me accept everything else. The baby was to be brought up as a Gilmore, as my little brother or sister, and that way I wouldn’t loose her or him completely, just as I wouldn’t loose my parents. Or so I thought then.  
But, things didn’t really turn out like that. In a way I might just as well have left when dad issued his ultimatum, because ever since that day my relationship with Richard and Emily has been lousy, to say the very least. Also, they did a pretty good job at keeping me away from my daughter. Like when she was born. Emily returned here with her, while I was left behind in Montreal. ‘It would look suspicious’ if I returned from my fake boarding school, see.  
And it started even before she was born, when they arranged for me to be registered as ‘Emily Gilmore’. That way my mother’s name would be on the birth certificate, and I would have one less thing connecting me to the baby. There were the nannies, a row of them – even if my mother didn’t fire them as often as the maids – and always trying to find other people to baby-sit. I’ve always felt like I had to sneak around to spend time with her…  
Do you know how many times I’ve taken a walk with my daughter? When she was little I mean, in her pram or stroller? Once. One time. And when Emily found out the nanny was fired and out the door in two hours. Just like that. Because I’d taken my ‘baby sister’ out for a walk around the neighborhood, for like half an hour. She was so afraid someone would see me and get the wrong idea – the ‘wrong’ idea of course being the right one, but hey, that’s Emily for you. Her way or no way.  
Back then I really thought I had no other option, not that I could live with that is, but I’m not so sure anymore. I’ve seen enough teenage parents by now to know that you’re capable of a lot more than you’d think when it comes to your kid. And I’ve started to believe that I would have been able to, too, if I’d just had the guts. See, that’s the irony of it all. I refused to marry Chris claiming he was too weak, and then I myself just folded.  
I was just as weak as I accused him of being. I should have left. Looking back I see that things probably weren’t as desperate as I believed. I could have found some sort of job. If I’d gone to Chris he’d have found some way to help me. Hell, if I’d gone to his parents Francine and Straub probably would have given me enough money to live comfortably just to stay away and not tell Chris. And I believe that Trix would have helped me… She knew, see, well not then, but later, and she didn’t like dad’s solution.”

“She knew?” _Wow, that’s a curve ball!_

“Yep. I got a letter from her yesterday, one she wrote three years ago and left with her will. She figured it out, somehow, when she visited for my Yale graduation, even confronted dad about it, but didn’t know what to do about it. She wanted to find a solution, but couldn’t, and to talk to me, but never managed to figure out how. At least that’s what the letter said, and I believe it.”

“So how did that make you feel? Finding out that Trix knew?”

“At first I got really angry. Wanted to kick something – but I settled for smashing china. Then I acted like a five-year-old and was, you know, ‘Well, if that’s how it was, then I don’t like you’ and decided to sell the house, sell ‘Thrilll’, to just get rid off everything. Then I calmed down a little, read the letter a few more times and really **thought** about things. Afterwards I understood.  
I still wanted to sell the house though, but then for the reasons I gave you, not as some sort of revenge. I’ve forgiven her, but God! How I wish she’d been able to find a way to get out of all this. Or just to talk to me about it! Then I might not have been such a screw-up now.”

“I hardly think you’re a ‘screw-up’, Lorelai. Yes, you have some serious problems, but considering what you’ve been through that’s not surprising. Honestly, you could have been a lot worse off. I know that might not be what you want to hear, but it is my opinion.”

“Thanks.” She gives him a weak smile, wipes some tears from her eyes, and looks at him with a little more composure.

“So. This is what you’ve been suffering from, is it? No more deep, dark secrets?” _Please say “no”, I don’t think either of us can handle any thing else at the moment._

She shakes her head, and he continues:   
“How do you want to do this, Lorelai? How do you want to continue?”

“I told you in the beginning – God, was that just less than a week ago? – I want my life back. That’s still true. I want a real life, with something besides work in it. Friends I don’t have to lie to, and always be on my guard with. A family… Not only a working relationship with my parents, and with my daughter, but also a family of my own, you know; a husband, a kid or two… As to how… Well, I’m beginning to suspect we both know how. I need to make right what I screwed up back then, straighten my mess up so to speak. And I think I know where to start. My parents… It scares me half to death, but I have to. Don’t I?”

“I think so, yes. How do you think your parents will react if you bring this up with them? Have you spoken about it at all in these what, fourteen years? Do you think they realize what’s behind your state of mind?”

“I don’t know. They should know, shouldn’t they? It ought to be self-explanatory. Then again, you never know with Richard and Emily. Their reaction? Oh, it’ll be bad. Because, no, we haven’t spoken about this since that day I agreed to their plan. Not even when she was born you know. Mom came, and she was there, and never said a word about any of this. Not one word. So they will probably be like ‘Lorelai Victoria Gilmore, we made a deal. That still stands. And that’s the end of it’, and refuse to talk about it. That’s partly what’s kept me from trying to breach the subject before, that my unhealthy mental state might be because of this. But this time I can’t back down like that, before I’ve even started trying, can I? I won’t, I have to deal with this.”

“See, I think I’ve finally figured something out. In order to get my life on track again I need my daughter. I need to have a working relationship with her, one where we can spend time together without Emily Gilmore going ballistic. And I think I need her to know the truth. Of course, I could always settle this in court, but that’s the last resort. That way I’d just ruin all chances of also having a working relationship with my parents, and that would be less than good. I think… I think I’d just rather settle this peacefully, if that’s even possible. I’m not sure it is, but I have to try.”

“It sounds right to me. I think you’re dead on when it comes to the need to have working relationships with your parents as well as with your daughter. About her, though, how do you think she will react?”

“Oh God. She’s a smart kid, always ahead, always understanding things no kid her age should be able to grasp. But this? Oh, if it was in a book, then sure. But in her own life? I have absolutely no idea. We’ve always connected, always been able to talk, even back when she was just four, but still… It’s one thing to have a good relationship with your big sister and a completely different one to find out she’s in fact your mother and that she gave you up. What teenager would not freak out at hearing that?”

She catches the look in his eyes, and answers his next question before he can even ask it.

“No, I didn’t give her up like that, but it’s not like I can tell her that. ‘Oh, by the way, I’m not your sister, I’m your mother. And Richard and Emily? They’re your grandparents, who more or less blackmailed me into giving you up’… Yeah, that’ll do wonders for trying to solve things peacefully, don’t you think? No, if I tell her, then I need to do it in a way that will let her still love them. Just because **my** relationship with them sucks it doesn’t naturally follow that **hers** need to as well. I need to fix things, not mend some and break others.”

“Okay, sounds smart.” _If she’s able to actually think like this, then why does she need me? Shouldn’t she have been able to figure this out a long time ago? Or should I just chalk it up to my positive influence?_

“You said something about a family of your own. Would you like Leigh to come stay with you?”

“I haven’t even thought about that, but yeah, I think I do. At least part-time, you know, share her. If she’s okay with it. But maybe if I can straighten everything out I’ll finally be able to start a new family. See, every time I even thought about having children I just felt my heart breaking again, knowing that any joy from having children would drown in the sorrow of missing my firstborn. And a man, a boyfriend or husband? I knew at fifteen that I needed to love, trust and respect the guy. And if you can’t be honest, then those three things are just a joke. To me at least. Plus, would it really be love, the feelings a man would have for me, when he never knew me truly and completely?”

Then she laughs, a bitter and ironic laugh that doesn’t reflect in her eyes, and sends him a twisted smirk.

“You know, what you said about Chris? About his divorce, and whether he wanted to get back together? Well, you might be right about him. See, he started showing up more and more a few months back. At parties I might attend, talking me into having lunch with him when he was around to visit his parents. Then he showed up at Trix’ funeral, telling me how I could always turn to him if I needed a friend. I know, might not sound like much, but I know Chris, and I’ve seen all these little things that just didn’t compute, as it were. And when you said that… It was like a flash, this ‘Oh my God, **is** Chris trying to get back together?’thought, and it sounds so right in my head.”

“Is that what you want, Lorelai? To get back together with Chris? You know, if you did, it just might improve your chances to get your daughter back.” He throws the bait out, wanting to see her reaction. It’s silence.

“Do I want to be with Chris again? Oh dear. You know, I…” She breaks off, thinks for a few more seconds, and then starts again.

“A part of me wants that. That’s the part that still loves Chris, and probably always will. But see, that part of me isn’t really who I am any more, it’s who I **was**.  
The truth of it is that fifteen-year-old Lor loved sixteen-year-old Chris. However, 30-year-old Lorelai doesn’t even **know** 31-year-old Christopher. And what little I **do** know isn’t exactly enough to make me change my mind. I’ve heard some gossip over the last eight years, and as far as I can tell it’s the same story as when we were teenagers: Chris getting bored, Chris not really working for things, Chris not taking responsibility…  
Trix told me once that I needed to be careful when choosing a partner for life. Because, even though women need to be strong there’s such a thing as a woman who’s too strong – at least for her partner. A relationship, a marriage, can’t survive if either partner is treated like a carpet – no matter who’s doing the walking and who’s doing the lying-down. And she was talking about Chris, I just know it. With him I’m afraid I’d always be too strong, always end up walking all over him – because he’s never had the strength to stop me, nor the desire to. Make any sense?”

She glances over, sees his nod, and responds with one of her own. Then she stretches softly, lets out a small moan, and complains:

“God, my head’s killing me. There wouldn’t be any aspirin lying around by any chance?”

He nods again and reaches into a drawer. He then hands her two pills, a small bar of chocolate and a glass of water, and waits. When she’s finished she sighs with content and looks at him expectantly.

“What now?”

“To be honest, Lorelai, you’re not the only one with a headache. This has been quite the day, for both of us. I’d like to stop now, go home and sleep, and then try and start over tomorrow. If that’s okay with you? You have made a lot of progress today, and I realize you might want to press on now, but I’m not sure either of us is really up for that.”

“You’re right. Yes, I’d like to keep going now, before I have the time to freak out, but I do have this lovely headache which I’m sure won’t be helped by more introspection. Plus, I’m starting to have some trouble thinking straight. Not the best thing for a therapy session, yes? So yeah, I think we’d better wait until tomorrow. At five, as usual? See you tomorrow then, Dr Marshall. And… thank you. It was wrong of me to question your professionalism. You’ve been great. Sleep tight.”

And with a wink and a wave she’s gone, leaving him to finally be able to break down a little himself.

_Oh, dear. I must be getting old. I used to be able to handle anything. So why does she affect me so?_ And then it hits him: he’s always had a soft spot for kids, not working much with them exactly for that reason. _And in some ways Lorelai Gilmore still has a lot of teenager in her…_

He reaches into his drawer, proscribing himself exactly the same as she received just minutes earlier, needing the pills for his head and the sugar for his depleted energy levels. At least now, he thinks tiredly as he walks towards his car, we’ve gotten past the worst. It has to start getting better now.


	11. How You Want It

**Chapter 8: How You Want It**

“Hi, Dr Marshall.” She walks through the door, radiating a quiet glow – _if such a thing exists_ – looking content and as close to happy as he’s ever seen her. If it wasn’t for the fact that the image of her breaking down in this very room only the day before… Then he might have said she looked happy. Now he settles for almost, even though it’s hardly settling – considering what he knows.

“Hello Lorelai. Feeling okay?” He looks at her carefully, noticing that she seems rested and that the dark circles under her eyes have faded a little during the past few days.

“Yeah, actually. When I left here yesterday I stopped for some Chinese, take-out naturally, and then went home to positively stuff myself. Then I went to bed early and actually slept!” She sounds amused and surprised at the same time, as if she’d been saying she’d found a man dressed as Santa trying to rob a store.

“See, as if my health wasn’t screwed up enough anyway I also suffer from bouts of insomnia, comes and goes actually, but… I never sleep well anymore, at least not on my own – I’ve been taking pills for that too for oh, since London. Last night I got over eight hours, and that just doesn’t happen to me! Not without those pills. The last time I can remember that happening… Oh, okay, so after the first time I came here, but before this week? Hasn’t happened since I was fifteen. Not that I’m complaining, not that much, I’ve gotten used to getting by on four or five hours mostly – and it sure helped when I needed to cram during my Yale-years. But I could get used to this – it felt real good to be able to get up this morning and function without a cold shower and too much coffee.”

“Good for you. So, how did your day go? You had a couple of important meetings, right?”

“Yes, I did.” She smiles, looking like a five-year-old at Christmas, and actually squirms with joy in her chair.

“First there was the meeting with Mia, the owner of Independence Inn. Or rather, the former owner. All the papers have been signed, she’s been paid… As of 9:32 this morning, and yes, I looked at my watch to get the exact time, I am the owner of the Independence Inn. Well, ‘Thrilll’ is, but that’s just me and Leigh, and she doesn’t know anything about it so… I mean, she knows Trix left her some stock and so on, but not any details. She’ll find out later.  
Anyway, Mia and I have a deal, and the only face the staff will see representing ‘Thrilll’ for a while will be my lawyer. I’d rather not be their boss for now. I told you about Sookie, yes? The chef, my almost-friend. I want to be her friend, I really do, and I’m afraid that being her boss would disqualify me from being her friend. I’ll tell her, some day, but just not yet.”

“So you will be keeping the staff then?”

“Well, we’re talking professionals here. They are good, in some cases like Sookie even great, and ‘good’ and ‘great’ aren’t that easy to get. At least not for a small Connecticut-inn. Plus, I’m used to them. They are all personalities, see, and that adds to the charm of the place. Oh, there’s this one guy, you’d love him!” Her face lights up again, and she giggles.

“You could probably make a career out of studying him. He’s French, totally stuck-up, egotistical, snobbish, but he’s got a warm heart – just never tell him he’s been found out! He sometimes starts muttering to himself, in French, thinking he’s safe. Before I came only Sookie knew any French at all, and if it doesn’t belong in the kitchen she doesn’t know it – doesn’t even want to. So he goes on, you know, like five-minute rants, about everything between heaven and earth.  
Oh, like yesterday, about how great the cake Sookie force-fed him was, and how he’d love to get a second piece. But, seeing as he’s Michel, and as he’s always on a diet… No way he’d tell her! Instead he’ll bitch and moan, protesting every time she makes him taste as much as a crumb, while secretly loving every bite! One day I’ll tell him I speak French, but I’m holding out for a while longer. He’s so much fun!

Also, as you know, there was the house-hunting trip. I think I must have seen every available house in Stars Hollow that met my demands, and quite a few that didn’t! I can afford a place that’s not falling apart, so I want something in repair. Also, I want more than one bedroom – in case I get that family I’ve talked about, and also so Leigh can have a room at my place…  
Plus, I’m spoiled now; I want an office/library at home. Oh, and no flats. Remember I told you about the town selectman? Well, turns out he owns a couple of apartment-buildings and when he found out I was looking… God, it took me half an hour to make him understand I didn’t want a flat, and I’m starting to think he only left me alone because he spotted some teenagers kissing in the square – totally outrageous behavior that.”

She winks, making him smile.

“But there were a couple of places… There was this one house, totally not what I wanted, but it gave me this strange feeling… You know, déjà vu, like I somehow belonged there. It was way too run down, plus I’d like something a little bigger, but still. And the couple next door seemed nice, even if they had gone a little over the top with the garden gnomes. And another house, well, I kind of got the same feeling there. Like I was supposed to live there, have children there, have a life and a husband there, in exactly that house.  
It’s not for sale though, and won’t be unless the owner dies. The real-estate agent told me not to get my hopes up on that account though, seeing as he’d just recovered from his last attempt. Apparently, every now and then he’s on his ‘death-bed’, only to recover after a few days. Probably just bored.  
Still, I’m going back tomorrow, on my own, to look at three of the houses. I expect to be done sometime next week. Then I can put Trix’ house on the market. I want to get on with that as soon as possible, get settled in my own place… My own place. Sounds great, I can hardly wait.”

He looks at her, thinking that it might be time to move on.

“Lorelai? Tell me about your daughter? Tell me about Leigh, what’s she like?”

Her entire face lights up, her eyes shine and she smiles – a genuine, happy smile that transforms her from a lovely woman to a truly beautiful one.

“Leigh… She’s wonderful. She’s really smart you know, always at the top of her class – always in first or second – and talented. She wants to go into journalism, be an overseas correspondent, ‘the next Christiane Amanpour’. But that’s a few years ahead; after all she’s only thirteen. There’s high school, and then college – seeing as she’s a Gilmore dad’s determined that she’ll go to Yale, but I know it’s not going to be that easy. My fault, partially.” She smiles again, a wicked pleased smile.

“See, last year I gave her all these brochures for colleges and universities, all the Ivy League ones and some great ones abroad, and that got her thinking. She’s mentioned going to Sorbonne for a year, and she actually started preparing by studying her French. If she does go I might join her – there’s the inn close by, and it could use some personal handling. But that’s at least five years from now, so we’ll see. But I’m happy that she’s thinking for herself, not just doing things to make mom and dad happy, or – like I did – to piss them off.  
Ehm, she reads a lot, and I do mean **a lot** , like her room’s covered in bookcases, and where Leigh is there’s always a book nearby. And I’m not talking typical kiddie books, or girlie ones, no, last time I saw her she was going through ‘Anna Karenina’. Oh, and apart from books there’s music and movies… She’s not really the kind of girl that spends a lot of time with other girls, but there’s this one girl she’s really close with. Paris – funny, huh?” She giggles a little, and he smiles as well – also catching the Sorbonne-reference.

“Anyway, Paris and Leigh are totally opposite personalities – mostly. Paris is high-strung, absolutely compulsive, honestly more than a little scary and totally obsessed with going to Harvard – she’s not even in high school yet and the girl’s already practicing her application essay and gathering ‘points’ by volunteering and such. Leigh, meanwhile, is soft-spoken, can hardly be mean to save her own soul and is a little more easygoing. Sure, she wants to get into college too, but not like that.  
They make a great team, though, especially since after Paris has scared some kid to tears Leigh can always make good and get the person to perform at a top level anyway. Also they bring out the best in each other when it comes to school – those times when Leigh’s not in first place it’s because Paris beat her to it with like a fraction of a point. And of course the other way around.”

Lorelai smiles, and grabs her purse. After searching for a few seconds she pulls out her wallet and flips it open to reveal a photo.

“That’s her. Cute kid, right?”

The girl in the picture resembles Lorelai quite a lot, but at the same time there are obvious influences from her father. She’s looking happy, sitting with a book – _not too surprising, from what Lorelai said_ – smiling at the camera. Yeah, a cute kid.

“Yes, she is. How do you think she will react if you tell her about all of this?”

“You mean, if I tell her the truth? Honestly, I still don’t know. One thing that I do know is that I really can’t tell her all the truth. I’ve decided to keep the fact that dad more or less blackmailed me into giving her up a secret. At least in the beginning. No good will come from her knowing; at least I don’t think so. She loves them, just as they love her. No need to ruin that.”

“Do you love your parents? I mean, after everything that’s happened, do you? And do you think they still love you?”

Tricky questions, he knows, but important ones. He watches her carefully as she sits quiet, thinking, clearly wanting to make sure she answers him correctly.

“Do I still love them? Yes. No matter what. They’ve hurt me, a lot, but that doesn’t change the fact that I love them. I might not always **like** them, but that’s not the same. However, both of those things might change when I talk to them about this…  
If they love me? I used to think that they did, that no matter what they’d always love me, even if I screwed up big time. But now… I don’t know. I haven’t felt like they really love me, or approve of me, since the day they found out I was pregnant. Not even being named valedictorian made them act like they were proud of me…” She looks sad, and turns her eyes to the floor.

_That’s a problem. If she talks to them and they don’t agree with her… That could send her over the edge again…_

“Do you want to tell Christopher about this?”

“God, no!” She looks up again, her eyes wide and almost terrified.

“Look, Chris… Chris isn’t grown up enough for this, still. He’d use the fact that we have a child together to try and get back together, you know. ‘But Lorelai, we have a responsibility, we need to be a family.’ Meaning that he gets to play house and I get to be responsible. Plus, there’s no way Chris could keep this quiet. Absolutely not. He’d open his big mouth and it’d be all over the place in five minutes. No thanks. Just think what that’d do to Leigh, and to my parents…  
Then all of this, all fourteen years, would be a waste. I’d have gone through all of this for nothing. I mean… I know it’s not really fair, him not knowing, but the other ways not fair either. I’d rather be unfair to Chris and keep him in the dark than have him know and blab about it and be unfair to a lot more people. No, if he finds out… That should be Leigh’s decision.”

“Lorelai? I know this probably isn’t something you’d like to think about, but what will you do if your parents refuse to give up? If they fight you on this?”

“Well, I’d rather do this the nice and quiet way, but if they refuse to let me… I’ll tell Leigh, no matter what they say, and they can’t really stop me you know. After that… Well, it depends on what she says. If she wants to spend more time with me and they won’t let us… There’s always going to court. Nasty, yes; unpleasant, yes; and totally not how I’d prefer it, but if that’s the only way that’s how I’ll do it. I’m not letting them keep me from so to speak getting back with my daughter, not when I’ve gotten to this point. I’m sure they won’t let it get as far as to court though, because of the scandal, but I could be wrong.”

“So how do you want to do this?”

“There’s only one way: a direct attack. Just be honest and straightforward, and hope that they see my side of this. I’ve actually decided to go there tonight, when we’re done here – Leigh has meetings with her French club on Fridays, and my parents are usually home alone. No time like the present right?”

Her words are brave, but her smile’s weak, showing him just how scared she is. _This must be how she looked when all of this started. Well, I guess that’s only natural – part of her is still trapped there. My God, I hope this works out. If it does, then she’ll finally be able to leave that scared hurt teenager behind. Bit if not, if this backfires… She’ll end up in hospital again, or worse._

“I wish you luck, Lorelai, I really do. But, if things should go badly…” He hands her a small business card, one containing all his contact information.  
“I’d rather not come here Monday and find out you’ve been admitted again, okay? You deserve to have this work; you really do, but just in case… In case of an emergency, just call me, okay? My cell phone number is on that card, it will be on. I’ll be there.”

The smile she rewards him with is brilliant, like a flash of sunlight, and it warms him. The Lorelai Gilmore he first met – only days before – never would have smiled like that. It’s a smile, he’s certain, that would have surprised Laura Jones greatly.

“Thank you. I promise, I won’t turn into some crazy woman and wake you up at three in the morning to talk about my stupid life,” she says with a smile and a wink before rising.

“I’ll see you Monday then? Great. Have a nice weekend, Dr Marshall.”

“The same to you. Good luck, Lorelai, and God bless.”

He watches her leave, takes a moment to clear his head, and prays fervently to the almost forgotten God of his childhood that she will be okay. _Take care of her, Lord. Walk with her, hold her hand, and give her peace._


	12. Opening Pandora’s Box

**Chapter 9: Opening Pandora’s Box**

“Lorelai?” Emily looks surprised, and just a little suspicious.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I just wanted to talk to you and dad. Is he around?”

“Yes, of course, he’s in his study. Why don’t you go into the living room while I get him?”

She sits down on the couch – ironically the same couch where she’d been found catatonic eight years earlier – and waits. It feels like hours before she hears her parents return, instead of the minutes she knows it really is, all the while her mind is screaming at her to _just get the hell out_.

“Lorelai.” Richard Gilmore looks as surprised as his wife did at seeing her.

“Your mother informs me you want to talk to us. Is this about that business Trix left you? Have you changed your mind?”

“No, dad, I haven’t changed my mind,” she sighs. _And I’m not going to either._

“I wanted to tell the two of you a few things. First off, I’m selling Trix’ house.”

“What? Why? I thought you liked that place?”

“I did, I do, it’s just… I’m 30 years old and I realized I’ve never had a home of my own. It’s always been someone else’s place. First there was this place, and so on. The closest thing I’ve come was my dorm room at Yale. So I thought it was time for me to find my own place.  
However, I know neither of you would appreciate finding out about this from someone else, so I wanted to tell you in person. Also, before I put the house on the market, I wanted to give the two of you the chance… I mean, if you maybe wanted it?”

Richard and Emily exchanges looks, then Emily starts.  
“That’s considerate of you, Lorelai, but we’re happy here. This is our home, something I think you might understand considering what you just said. But, if you need help with this, just ask.”

“Thanks, mom. Ehm, then there was this business-thing. Dad, I realize that you’re only trying to help, but I’ll do this my way. I know you’re good, but ‘Thrilll’ is my business. In every sense of the word. Do you realize I’ve been running it for almost eight years now?”

The surprised look on Richard’s face informs her that no, he didn’t know that, and she assumes the same goes for anything else about the business.

“See, when you sent me to stay with Trix she decided to make me into a businesswoman. Starting with classes. But that only served to make me bored out of my head, seeing as I didn’t understand any of it, and that in turn made me feel stupid. So, in order for me to learn she created ‘Thrilll’, and turned it over to me. And even though she was always there to answer questions it was **my** mistakes and **my** successes that made the business what it is today.  
And that’s why I won’t turn it over to you, dad, because I’ve worked really hard to make ‘Thrilll’ into what it is. What I want it to be. It’s not about me saying ‘no’ just to spite you, you know. I wish you could believe that, could believe that sometimes I do things because it’s right for me instead of believing I’m doing what I believe will infuriate you the most. And mom, the same goes for you.”

Both Richard and Emily look stunned. Obviously the words coming out of her mouth are so far from what they could have expected as to make them speechless. _Huh. I wonder why. Is it because they don’t see their behavior like that, or because they never thought **I** would, or because they didn’t think I’d ever get the courage to confront them about it? With those two it could be either one, and who’d ever be able to figure out which? Well, I guess they’ll find their voices soon enough, considering what’s to come..._

“Mom, dad… We need to talk about Leigh.”

“What about your sister, Lorelai?” Emily looks a bit uncomfortable, as always when talking to her daughter about **her** daughter, but also worried that she might have missed something, that something might be wrong with her beloved Leigh.

“No, mom. We need to **talk** about Leigh. So don’t call her my sister, I really can’t take the lies now.”  
Both her parents shout her name, upset that she won’t follow the rules. _Oh, I’m so breaking the rules tonight. I’m breaking **all** the rules in fact, so just get used to it._

“Lorelai!”

“Lorelai Victoria Gilmore, we have a deal, remember? We’re not talking about that.”

“Yeah, I remember the deal. But I’m breaking it, now, before it breaks me.”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic, Lorelai!”

_And Emily Gilmore strikes again…_ “Dramatic”? _Of course, she’d think so._

She contemplates how to respond when Richard decides to join in.

“We agreed on this, Lorelai, all three of us. And part of that agreement was not to talk about this, ever. This conversation’s over now.”

_And just like that he expects me to fold? Well, I guess I’ve given him reasons enough in the past to believe that. But man, is he in for a surprise. The time for “meek stupid little Lorelai” is over._

“No, dad, it’s not over. In fact, it’s only started. We’re talking about this, one way or the other. See, I refuse to let this charade continue any longer while my life goes down the drain.  
Dad, I know you think you did what was best for everyone, I really believe you think that, but it didn’t work out like that. Yes, what you did probably was best for you and mom. It’s been good for Leigh, I’ll give you that, but the **best**? I’m not so sure if being lied to for your entire life is best for anyone. And me? Oh God, when it comes to me you didn’t even come close. Did you even consider what this plan of yours would do to me?”

“Of course I did, Lorelai. I did what was best for you, not matter what your over-dramatic brain might have come up with since.”

“My ‘over dramatic brain’? God, dad, that’s a low blow even for you.” She closes her eyes for a few seconds, tries to focus and make the threatening tears retreat. They soon do – she’s good at making them. Too good, but that’s just how it is. Fourteen years of practice will do that to a person.

“Mom. Dad. I’m not being ‘dramatic’. I’m telling you how I feel – that’s not being ‘dramatic’, that’s being **honest**. And considering I haven’t been able to be honest with either one of you in over fourteen years I had hoped you’d be a little more open to it. But, if you really think that me telling the two of you about my feelings is to be considered ‘dramatic’,” and she sees both her parents wince at her sarcastic tone, “then how about if I just keep to the facts?  
Fact: In the last fourteen years I’ve had four serious breakdowns, two of which landed me in the hospital. It should have been three, but you were too afraid someone would find out why I missed graduation. Even if it meant that I didn’t get the best possible treatment. It could have been all four times if I hadn’t gotten help at once this time.” 

Both Emily and Richard look startled at this, and Richard opens his mouth to protest, but she doesn’t let him. She needs to get this of her chest now, she needs to say all those things she’s kept hidden deep inside for so long, and no one or nothing is going to stop her.

“Fact: For almost eleven years now I’ve been on antidepressants. I haven’t been able to go two consecutive days without being drugged in those years. For almost eight years I’ve been dependent on pills to sleep.”

“What are you talking about, Lorelai? Four breakdowns? In hospital twice?” Emily looks unsure if she should believe her own ears, and just a little scared.

“Didn’t either of you notice what Trix’ death did to me? If I hadn’t had access to pills I would have broken down completely long ago. If I hadn’t gotten proper help this time I would be in the hospital as we speak. But I’m guessing what you really need to know about is the first one. It was in Montreal, just after Leigh was born. I…” But she doesn’t get any further before Emily interrupts her.

“What on Earth are you saying? Yes, I know you had to stay a few more days at the hospital, but that was because you ran a fever!”

“Not exactly, mom. Yes, I had a fever, due to caked breasts, but that wasn’t until after I was admitted. See, after you left I broke down. The staff got worried about me, because I missed my check-up that afternoon, and then I didn’t answer the phone… One of the nurses came over, had to use the master key, and found me passed out on the floor. When I came to I was hysteric.  
They had me sedated for three days, since I wouldn’t stop crying. **Then** the fever came. When I got better they told me it was just ‘baby blues’ – and oh, how right they were – and that it’d pass – in which they were wrong. I spent every free minute during the next month crying, you know, and was unable to sleep properly. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Leigh, I heard her crying, smelled her…  
I don’t think I’ve been truly happy since that day, not even for a minute. The last happy memory I have is sitting with Leigh in my arms, watching her sleep, being filled with love. I remember thinking that it was perfect, that she was everything I’d ever needed or wanted, and that I needed to talk to you mom, because there was no way I could ever give her up. Then you told me I looked tired, and why didn’t I take a nap while you watched the baby? Of course, when I woke up you were gone and the only thing lefty was your note, God, mom, could you have been any colder? _‘Dear Lorelai, the baby and I have gone home. See you at Christmas.’_  
Did you realize I was about to back out? Was that why you left like that? Did you… No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t think I really want those answers. I don’t need your side – right now I need to tell you **my** side.”

She draws a deep breath, trying to find the right words – not knowing if there are any “right words” to say that your parents have turned you into a mental case.

“When I came back from Montreal I was looking forward to it so much it actually hurt. The only thing that kept me going was that I would finally be able to see my baby again, hold her and spend time with her again. Only to find out that you had no intention to let me do that. I felt as if I just as well could have stayed away. Like I was the disappointment you still had to call your daughter and Leigh was your chance to get a **real daughter**.  
Today I was asked today if you loved me. And I had to answer that I didn’t know. I haven’t felt loved since the day you found out I was pregnant.  
And that’s part of why I’m breaking that deal now. Because it feels like I made a deal with the devil, sold my soul and got nothing in return.”

“Lorelai! Are you actually comparing your father to the devil? Really, that’s just not okay!”

“No, mom, I’m not. Not most of the time at least. In my darkest moments though… God, do you think I **like** feeling like this? That I like waking up, feeling like a shell of a person, empty and incapable of feeling any happiness what so ever? That I like not being able to sleep without drugs and then not being able to get out of bed and function without more drugs? Do you? Because, honestly, I thought you were smarter than that.”

She can feel her emotions getting the better of her, running wild, washing over her and burying all her reservations like a landslide. And the words she’s kept inside for so long rushes out of her, like a flood, unstoppable and furious.

“Ever since I came back from Montreal I’ve wanted to back out of this deal, wanted to take Leigh and leave. But I was too weak, too scared. I was sure I’d never be able to take care of myself, let alone Leigh. And by then I was already suffering from depression. But I should have left, should have walked away when I found out I was pregnant. Because the deal I made? The reason I agreed to this? Didn’t work. Instead I lost everything. Instead of just losing the two of you I lost you, my daughter and myself. So why is it so surprising that it feels like a deal with the devil?”

“Lorelai? What are you talking about?” Emily’s voice is small and unsteady, sounding as she’s afraid of what she’s hearing. >Could it be…? No, he’d never do that, would he? **Would** he?

When she gets no answer from her daughter Emily turns to her husband instead, her voice almost pleading.

“Richard? What is she talking about? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

Lorelai waits for her dad to answer his wife, but he’s silent, obviously without words. So she decides to take it upon herself, decides to see if her growing suspicions can be true.

“When dad came to talk to me that evening he asked me, just like you did, if I would marry Chris or have an abortion. Then, as you know, he presented me with this ‘deal’. But there was another option as well. If I didn’t get married, have an abortion or give the baby to you I was to leave the house and never come back. Never see either one of you ever again. That’s what made me agree. I really couldn’t marry Chris, I still believe that it would have been a disaster, and an abortion was out of the question.  
That left me with two options: loose my parents or loose my child. Only, if she was raised here, as my sister, then I wouldn’t really loose her. Or that’s what I thought. The way I saw it giving her to you was the only way I could keep all three of you in my life. And I just couldn’t loose you, I couldn’t. So I agreed. Just to realize that not only did you keep me from her but also you kept yourselves from me. Even living in the same house it was as if I wasn’t really there.  
I spent so much time trying to make you accept me again, trying to be good enough for you to love, but I never felt like I succeeded. And then I broke down again, and instead of helping me, instead of being there for me you sent me off to Trix. Just like that. Like I was an inconvenience instead of your daughter.  
So I should have left. At least then I would have had Leigh. And maybe then I wouldn’t be this broken.”

“Oh Lorelai…” The words coming from Emily are sad, almost whispered, and it surprises Lorelai to see that her mother is crying.

“Richard, how could you do this? Why didn’t you tell me the truth? You must have known I’d never abandon my only daughter, never throw her out. Richard…”

“Emily. Calm down. I did what was best. You always wanted another child. And it was obvious that Lorelai wasn’t going to make it on her own. Always getting into trouble, never staying with anything for more than a second. And she wanted to go off to Harvard, and Europe, and all those other crazy ideas she had. We’d end up raising the child anyway – this way at least we avoided the scandal.”

Looking closely at her father Lorelai sees that even though he’s still acting certain there’s something in his eyes – something brought forth by his wife’s tears. But she doesn’t get the time to muse about that, because without warning Emily gets up, walks over to her and embraces her.

“I’m so sorry, Lorelai,” she whispers in her daughter’s ear, while holding her like she hasn’t done in years.”

“I’m sorry we hurt you. I’m sorry you don’t feel as if we love you. I’m so sorry for everything…”

And Lorelai hugs her back, her own tears flowing freely and unchecked now, finally in her mother’s arms. Finally feeling safe, warm and loved.

~*~*~*~

Lorelai walks through her door, bone-weary, exhaustion making her body heavy and her mind clouded. But, her heart feels light, in all the meanings of the word, and that makes all the rest endurable. 

All she wants to do was fall into bed and sleep like a dead person, but something keeps her awake. Someone… She takes the card from her pocket, taps it against her hand and checks the time. Too late to call. At least, too late to call just to inform him that all hell didn’t in fact break loose.  
But, a nagging voice in her head insists, he’s probably waiting to hear from her. From what she’s seen these past few days Dr Robert Marshall is the kind of person to worry unless he hears from her. Something that’s easily understood, considering how messed up she’s been. She looks at the card again, debating whether to call or not, when she notices the e-mail address at the bottom. _The perfect compromise_ , she thinks, and walks into her office where she turns her computer on and starts typing.

_Dear Dr Marshall,_  
No, this isn’t a cry for help. Actually it’s just me sending you a few lines to let you know that you won’t be finding me in the hospital anytime soon. Things went well tonight, better than I’d dared to believe.  
To make a long story short, apparently my mother didn’t know all the details of our little deal. She got quite upset when she found out, and more or less bullied my father into accepting that things will have to change now. He didn’t seem too happy with it, but agreed anyway – mom has a way to get him to do that… Plus, it probably helps that he’s starting to see what effects all this has had on me, and that he knows this is what Trix would have wanted.  
For now we are going to concentrate on two things; first, letting me and Leigh spend more time together, and second, trying to mend things between my parents and me. For starters I’ll be going over there for a weekly family dinner every Friday. We’ll see how that turns out.  
I’m really happy now, and that’s all that’s keeping me up – I’m also dead-tired, see. You’ll get the whole story on Monday though, just wanted to let you know I’m okay.   
Sincerely,  
Lorelai Gilmore 


	13. Epilogue: With My Whole Heart

**Epilogue: With My Whole Heart**

_Dear Dr Marshall:_  
Isn’t it just so like me? The last few times I’ve felt like I have nothing new to say, like we’re just going over old things over and over again. And now that I’ve looked forward to seeing you and have something new and exciting to tell you, now I can’t come. But, seeing as I’m close to exploding from not telling, I thought I’d e-mail you instead. Quite the change, huh? Going from the person who’d never tell Laura Jones anything important to someone who can’t let such a minor detail as loosing her voice keep her from telling you what’s going on.

_First, Leigh turned fourteen last week. This, of course, meant parties! Friday night at my parents place, an elegant affair with schoolmates and “society kids” that simply **shrieked** Emily. Saturday I hosted a second, smaller and more relaxed party here. Me, Leigh, her friend Paris from school, two other classmates, the parents and some people from Stars Hollow – including a new friend of Leigh’s, Lane (they seem to be getting along great)… Then, Sunday, the parents and I sat her down for “the talk”. And unlike with most kids her age that wasn’t a sex-talk. (Unless, of course, you count me having to explain having sex with Chris…) No, this was the talk where she found out I’m her real mother._

_We told her, as agreed upon, the Disney-version, that being the one where we all agreed that this was the best solution – where I was too young, too scared and too depressed to take care of her on my own – and where we’ve always intended to tell her everything once she was “old enough” to understand and I was stable enough to step in as a parent. Both of those things being true now. She bought it, thank the powers, and seemed to accept everything she was told. I think she took it well enough, at least there was nothing to suggest otherwise._

_The fact that she hugged me really hard, for a long time, and told me she loved me, I think supports my theory that she took it well. And, once the parents left – yes, she spent the night here so that we could talk, even though mom was a bit anxious about it – she smiled and told me that she doesn’t blame me. Yes, she said, she’d have loved to grow up with me as her mom – “It would be like a mother, a sister and a best friend in one person” – but that we’d just have to make up for lost time now. Which we immediately started to do, by stuffing ourselves with junk food (burgers from Luke’s, chocolate- and coffee ice-cream and so on; all the essentials that is), trading gossip and watching an old favorite from when Leigh was a little girl: Pippi Longstocking. (I really don’t know what surprised me the most: that she remembered the lyrics to the opening song or that **I** did…)_

_The four of us together have agreed that for now things will remain pretty much as they are; that is, Leigh will continue to stay with my parents during the weeks – both because it’s easier for her to get to school from there and because too many changes seems like a bad idea – but will spend her weekends here with me. In the future that may change, but for now it’s the best solution. Also, we’re not telling people about this. Leigh wants some time to process it – naturally – and then to choose who knows and who doesn’t. Chris won’t be among the ones who do, by the way. And that was all Leigh’s decision – she heard what we said about him, added her own observations and came to the conclusion that he’d complicate things too much. That too may change in time, though – you never know._

_Ever since we told her I feel so… relieved. Light. Happy. Like life’s finally getting good again. I’ve been so afraid that mom and dad would back out, as you know, but now that Leigh knows there’s no way that can happen. I’m finally free. Mom and dad, however, are starting to look nervous now instead – they probably are afraid that **I** will be the one to back out, and tell Leigh **everything**. I won’t, I’ve told them so, but they still seem uncertain. I can’t blame them, I guess, but still… It’d be great if they could trust me on this, just trust me for once…_

_On a more optimistic note, I’ve got a date! Yes, I, Lorelai Gilmore have a date. And no, it’s not Chris. Most certainly not, even though he’s tried often enough. (Part of why Leigh doesn’t want to tell him, I think – he’s been rather annoying, to say the very least!) A date… I can hardly believe it. I haven’t been on one of those in five years, and I haven’t been on one **voluntarily** in close to nine years! So, who’s the man, you might ask? Or rather, others would ask but I’m pretty sure you have a **very** qualified guess. It’s Luke. Yes, Luke, my very own provider of coffee, the grumpy diner-man I love to tease. The only man to make me feel happy shivers since Chris. Weird, I know, but still. It feels soooooo right!_

_It’s scary, too, because of all the implications. First, it’s scary because, what if it doesn’t work? This is the man who makes my coffee, remember, plus he’s a friend – something I’m certainly not spoiled with. And then, what if it **does** work? If my heart’s to be trusted in this then he could very well be the one; the one to make all my dreams come true and make me happy and heart-whole. I’m not sure which scares me the most – the prospect of being unhappy or the prospect of **not**..._

_Oh, well, if it doesn’t work, then at least I have a really good psychiatrist to help me through it! The date’s set for this Saturday (Leigh’s otherwise engaged) which means that you get to hear all about it next week. That is, if my voice recovers enough for me to a/ go on this date and b/ make my appointment with you._  
Wish me luck!  
/ Lorelai 

~*~*~*~

  
**Robert Marshall**  
is hereby invited to  
celebrate the marriage of  
 **Lorelai Gilmore**  
and  
 **Lucas Danes**  
Saturday May 5, 2000  
at the Independence Inn

_Please come – it would mean a lot to me… / L_

~*~*~*~ 

Born:  
Lorelai **Rebecca** Gilmore Danes  
February 11, 2001  
Beloved daughter, sister and granddaughter 

~*~*~*~ 

The Beginning  



End file.
